the Price to Pay
by doyou000me
Summary: Voldemort is gone and the war is over. Harry has returned from the dead. But when making a deal with Death, there is always a price to pay.
1. Prologue

"Do you wish to live?"

"Yes."

"Will you pay the price?"

"Yes."

* * *

_It is but a moment in time, a few minutes at most. But it is an important moment all the same…_

I awake to the sound of a heartbeat, the heavy, rhythmical thumps rattling my ribcage as it forcefully pushes blood through my veins. My pale skin flush with life and beside me, my fingers twitch. Fresh air, heavy with the smell of greenery and soil, rush in between my lips and into my starved lungs, my chest rising and then falling when I exhale, and the air took with it the dregs and clogs of lifelessness as if my body was a room with stale air that is now being aired for the first time in a very long time.

I open my eyes and blink as I am met with a canopy of greenery, upheld by massive, twisted trunks swept in dark barque. The darkness of night rest among the trees and a respectful silence lie over the forest, broken only by heartfelt sobs. I blink again and turn my gaze downwards to find a mess of red locks and a pair of shaking shoulders; a woman sits by my side, bent over me with her face pressed against my chest and her hands fisting my shirt.

Wondering why she is crying, I try to reach up to stroke her hair, but my hand won't move.

"Why are you crying?" I ask gently.

She rears back and stares at me, her brown, teary eyes wide in shock. There is both blood and dirt splattered over her features, but even so, she is pretty beneath it all. Her breath hitches in her throat and then she throws herself down atop me, almost taking the air out of my lungs.

"Harry!" she exclaims breathlessly, her voice full of relief.

I blink slowly in surprise and then frown, confused.

"Who's Harry?" I ask.

_It is but a moment in time, a few minutes at most. But it is an important moment all the same, because it is my very first. _


	2. Chapter 1

**I. **"I am afraid Mr Potter suffers from amnesia," a man in bright green robes says self-importantly and nods meaningfully. He has introduced himself as Healer Pollingtonious and seems to be somewhat important here at the hospital that is, apparently, called St Mungo's.

The room we are in is small with wooden panelling on the walls. There is a small, narrow window that lets in a ray of light which falls over my legs, and curious globes that shine have gathered in the ceiling. I watch them quietly from where I sit in the bed, leaning back against the pillows and dressed in a hospital gown with a scratchy blanket pulled up over my legs. A woman with bushy hair sits in the visitor's chair by my side and is holding my hand; beside her, there is a man who reminds me of the crying woman, and he has placed his hand on her shoulder. They said they are my best friends since many years back, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, but we have only just met today.

The words from the healer seem to upset them both, and while Weasley squeezes Granger's shoulder, she squeezes my hand. I, however, find myself frowning at the healer, for I do not suffer at all. I am, actually, quite comfortable here, and the only thing that bothers me at the moment is the fact that the others think there is something gravelly wrong with me while I am perfectly fine. Their sympathetic looks make me uneasy.

"Oh, Harry," Granger whispers and squeezes my hand harder; there is a tremble in her voice. "Why do these things always happen to you?"

I frown slightly in confusion as I have no idea of what she is speaking about, but she does not seem to notice. Instead, she turns back to Healer Pollingtonious and steels herself with a deep breath.

"So he remembers nothing?"

"No, Mr Potter remembers nothing previous to awakening in the Forbidden Forest after the battle with You-Know-Who," he states. "His first memory is, in fact, waking up in the forest with Ms Weasley."

"But they'll return, right? His memories?" Weasley asks, his face pale beneath the freckles, and he turns to look at me with a worry I do not share.

"Most likely, yes," the healer answers and nods to himself again. "It appears to be an entirely psychological issue; this has not been caused by any form of spell-damage. Possibly, it can be related to his – _ah_, temporary passing, so to say."

I don't say anything, but inwardly, I roll my eyes. They have told me that I fought in a war and that I was killed only to awake without my memories. In all honesty, I find it a bit hard to believe.

"When will they return?" Weasley asks with a frown.

"Such a thing cannot be predicted in these cases," the healer sniffs and puts his nose in the air. "The memories will return when Mr Potter is ready for them; neither sooner nor later."

"Oh, Harry," Granger repeats, but now there are tears in her eyes. "Don't worry, okay? We'll help you," she promises.

"Yeah, mate," Weasley agrees. "We'll have your memories back before you know it."

I understand that they mean well, and so I smile in return.


	3. Chapter 2

**II.** I'm sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, dressed in a pair of black robes that Hermione says are mine. Apparently, I'm leaving this place today; Healer Pollingtonious can find nothing wrong with me except for the fact that I have no memories before my awaking in the forest, and both Hermione and Ron, as they've told me to call them, are eager to take me to some place they think I might remember.

Before that, however, there's something else they want to try.

"Here," Hermione says and places a thin piece of polished wood in my hands.

I hold it gingerly, unsure of what might happen. It looks like little more than a stick, but I've seen the healers wave similar objects about and all sorts of things have happened. The one in my hands seems harmless, though, for nothing happens when I hold it.

"It's yours," Hermione says gently as Ron watches from the corner. "It's your wand, Harry."

I look up at her and I don't need to see my face to know that it's blank. She sighs but looks determined and goes on.

"Try waving it around a bit," she suggests and even though I see little meaning behind it, I do. Nothing happens.

"Do you, I don't know… feel anything?" Ron asks hopefully and I look at him questioningly, wondering what holding a stick is supposed to make me feel. "Not warm or anything? Or like it belongs?"

I shake my head and he sighs heavily.

"What about this one?" Hermione asks and gives me another wand.

This one is of pale wood and looks somewhat older than the first one, but just like with the first, nothing happens. I try to wave it around a bit for good measure, but I don't think any of us really expects anything to happen.

Hermione and Ron exchange a look but I don't know that it means.

"He should feel _something_," she says worriedly, but then she squares her shoulders and turns to me with a resolute expression. "I'll just have to reteach you."


	4. Chapter 3

**III. **I stare at the shabby old townhouse of Grimmauld Place nr 12 that has just appeared between number 11 and 13. Hermione and Ron look at me expectantly and I understand that they think I should remember something. I don't – as far as I know, it's the first time I see this house, and it feels as if I should have remembered a house that can appear out of nowhere.

"Maybe when we're inside?" Ron suggests and Hermione nods.

"Come on," she says and leads the way up the stone steps and through the front door.

Inside, it's not much better than the outside. I look about in mild curiosity, follow the staircase with my gaze and wonder where it leads before I take in the spider webs and the heavy curtain that seems to cover something on the wall.

"Do you remember anything?" Ron asks eagerly and rounds a hideous umbrella stand with caution.

"No," I answer with a shrug and they both seem to deflate, their shoulders dropping in disappointment. "Should I?"

"We've lived here, Harry," Hermione explains. "This was the Order's headquarters; this is Sirius' old family home. Do you remember the Order of the Phoenix? Sirius?"

I frown and look around more carefully, looking at the pealing wallpaper and the steps that lead down to a big kitchen. Ron and Hermione watch silently, both tense and anxious for my answer, and I shake my head.

"I don't remember any of this," I tell them.


	5. Chapter 4

**IV. **We are at a place called the Burrow to visit people I am supposed to know, but we barely get through the door before I am enveloped in a hug by a woman with a motherly look to her and tears in her eyes. The hug is almost suffocating and in spite of the woman's undoubtedly good intentions, I feel as if she is invading my personal space.

"Oh, Harry, my dear boy," she sniffs and squeezes me tightly. "Haven't you suffered enough?"

"I'm not suffering," I croak quietly, completely still in her arms as I am unsure of how to respond. I realize I'm probably supposed to hug her back, but to me, she is a stranger, and all this closeness is a bit overwhelming.

To my relief, she releases me and holds me at arm's length to get a proper look at me.

"There's no need to act strong here, Harry," she tells me and then smiles through her tears. "Come now, I've made your favourite. You're still much too skinny."

She leads me over to the big table in the middle of the kitchen and I sigh warily, somewhat uncomfortable with the familiarity. Perhaps they all knew me, but I don't know them, and to be told by a stranger what my favourite is, is somewhat disconcerting. Still, the big portion of treacle tart that is placed before me is delicious.

"Hello, Harry."

I look up at the young woman who has claimed the seat beside me and blink in surprise at the familiar face. Hermione and Ron have told me that her name is Ginny and that she is Ron's little sister, and she is now looking at me with a careful smile that seems curiously brittle.

"Hello, Ginny," I answer with a slight smile and she shines up with hope and relief. "It's good that you're not crying anymore," I tell her but it seems to be the wrong thing to say because her smile slips.

"You… you remember me, right? Harry?"

There is something desperate and pleading in her tone, and I stare back at her uncertainly, not sure of what to answer. From the corner of my eye, I can see Ron and Hermione exchange looks of concern, and I sigh deeply.

"No, I'm sorry. I don't," I answer honestly, my tone apologetic, and for a moment she simply stares at me with wide eyes. Then she ducks her head to hide her face and turns away before rising from her seat. As she leaves the room, her mother sniffles by the stove and I sigh heavily, burdened by their expectations and the knowledge that I cannot fulfil them; they wish for me to play a role I have no script to.

"But you remember us, right, Harry?"

"Of course you do, you cannot possibly have forgotten us!"

"No, we're simply too fabulous!"

I stare at the twins that now stand before me, wearing identical grins as they look down at me.

"Eh…" I mumble, lost for words, but before I can really say anything, they continue.

"You have forgotten us!" one of them exclaims.

"I cannot believe this!" the other agrees, and they both put a hand over their hearts with theatrical drama and shake their heads.

"We'll have to prank him, won't we, Gred?"

"Oh yes, Forge. To make sure he can't ever forget us again."

"Fred, George! Leave the poor boy alone!" their mother calls.

Once they've left, I look around the room in silence. With the exception of Ginny, the whole family is gathered around the table, eating and talking merrily. It's homely and welcoming and even though they seem to consider me a part of the family, I cannot help but feel like an outsider, because no matter how familiar they act with me, I do not know these people.


	6. Chapter 5

**V. **"… don't understand. It's all in _Muggle Psychology Explained_; familiar things should make his memories return."

I stop on the last step of the stairs with my hand on the banister when Hermione's voice reach me, and I do not feel bad about eavesdropping on them for I realize that it is me they are talking about.

"I don't know, 'Mione…" Ron mumbles and trails of, obviously unsure of what to say.

During this short time that I have known them, I have gathered that Hermione is the one who usually does the thinking. The fact that she does not seem to know what to do seems to unsettle Ron who is used to simply following her lead, and I hear him sigh heavily.

"It'll probably work," he says and tries to sound reassuring. "We'll just have to try again."

I sigh and shake my head as I continue down the stairs and pass through the hallway. I understand that they miss their friend and are therefore eager for my memories to return, but I do not share their enthusiasm. What I have heard about the other Harry hasn't exactly made me more eager, and I cannot conceive the idea of being a self-sacrificing hero of war. The Harry they know, the one that rests in the lost memories, is someone far beyond me.

"There you are!" Hermione exclaims when she sees me and she gives me a slightly shaky smile as she tries to uphold her waning hope.

I give her a weak smile and sit down across from her by the table.

"Your wand?" she asks and I take out the wand of elder wood.

Ron almost drops the mug he is holding and Hermione stills and stares at the wand for a moment before raising her gaze to look up at me.

"Why did you take that one?" she asks quietly.

I look at them in surprise before sighing as I wonder what it is I have done wrong now.

"They're both mine, aren't they? What does it matter which one I take?"

"They're both yours, but…" Hermione says carefully, and Ron cuts in when she trails off.

"You prefer the other one, mate," he tells me and I look up at him with a completely blank expression.

"Do I?" I ask in annoyance, because to me, they're both little more than sticks and I have no preference whatsoever.

"They should both work," Hermione says quickly. "Now, we're going to start simply with a first year charm called _Wingardium Leviosa_. It's really simple, see, you just…"


	7. Chapter 6

**VI. **I am in the room at Grimmauld Place that they have told me belongs to Sirius, my dead godfather. They seemed to expect me to become upset when they told me of him, but to me, he is but another person I do not know. He, like the rest of them, is part of the memories that belong to the other Harry. The room is full of red banners and the walls are full of posters with naked women and motorbikes. I cannot say I like it, but when I talked with Ron about changing the room a while ago, he looked down right horrified. I haven't brought it up since then.

At the moment, I am sitting on the bed with my legs crossed under me, practicing the hand movement of _Wingardium Leviosa_ with the holly wand in hand. So far, I haven't managed to produce any kind of magic, and if Hermione hadn't demonstrated the spell and its effects, I'd have thought they're pulling my leg. Still, Hermione seems determined to teach me spells I have, apparently, already known, and we now practice every day.

There's a knock on the door and I look up, wondering who it might be as it does not sound like Hermione's sharp knocks and Ron tends to forget to knock altogether.

"Come in," I call, and the door opens to reveal Ginny.

Her shoulders are slumped and her eyes are red and swollen as if she has been crying. She stands with her hand on the door handle, not quite stepping into the room, and looks at the floor by the bed instead of at me. I put the wand down and turn to her fully, but for quite some time, she says nothing.

"Do you miss me?"

When her words do break the silence, they surprise me and I cannot help but frown at her. Miss her?

"We saw each other at the Burrow, didn't we?" I ask carefully.

Her head snaps up and she stares at me, her eyes shining with unshed tears, and I realize that I have said the wrong thing once again.

"That was a month ago, Harry," she tells me, her voice strained.

"A month?" I repeat in surprise. Has it really been that long? It feels like it was just a few days ago, but when I think back, I find that most of the time is but a hazy blur that has passed me by as if the memories of those days have not quite stuck with me. I remember being at the Burrow and meeting the Weasleys, and I think it was just a few days later that Hermione first tried to teach me _Wingardium Leviosa_, but how many times have we practiced since then? I do not know.

"A month, Harry, and I haven't heard anything from you!" Ginny cries out and breaks through my thoughts. Her clenched fists are shaking by her sides now and she is taking deep breaths as if to gather herself. "I realize you're having a hard time right now, Harry. You need all the time you can get to try to get your memories back, I know that. But- I don't know, I guess I thought you'd still love me, but you really don't remember me at all."

I look at her, my hear sinking in my chest. "Ginny…" I mumble, but I do not know what to say.

She gives a bitter laugh and shakes her head.

"It's just so hard, you know? I was so worried about you when you were out there and no one knew if you were alive or not. But then you returned, and you were alive and well, and I was so, _so_ happy. It was- I can't even describe it. Then there was the battle, and you were off fighting again, but you got out of it alive, and then you disappeared."

She stops talking, suddenly, and looks as if she cannot continue. I can do nothing but look at her helplessly, because even though Hermione and Ron have told me some about the war, I have no idea what she is talking about. When she continues, her voice is shaking.

"When I found out that you'd gone into the forest to die for us, I thought _I_ would die, and then I found you with- with Voldemort's body, and you weren't breathing," she looks me in the eye and pauses for a moment. "You were dead, Harry. It felt as if my heart had been torn out of my body; after almost a year of worry I'd finally gotten you back, and after just a few hours, you _die_. I was _mourning_ you, Harry, and then you woke up."

She shakes her head, her voice filled with wonder but her tone bitter, and she gives a weak laugh that has no humour in it. Angrily, she dries an escaped tear from her cheek.

"Now you don't remember me," she says quietly, her voice full of sorrow. "I love you, Harry, but… My heart's been torn to pieces too many times now, for something you don't even remember. I've talked with Hermione and she says your memories will return, but what if they don't? I- I can't do this anymore, Harry. I'm sorry."

She leaves with tears rolling down her cheeks and I am left sitting on the bed, alone with an empty ache in my chest. I don't think I have done anything wrong or that I could have done anything differently to change this, but it doesn't stop me from feeling like a horrible person. For the first time since waking up, I wish that I had those memories back if only to make this right, but it is too late now.

"I'm not that Harry," I say to myself. "I can't live his life."

The room is quiet around me. No one answers.


	8. Chapter 7

**VII. **It's been tense between Hermione, Ron and I since Ginny came to visit. Since Ron is her brother and Hermione her friend, they both seem to sympathize with her and are being rather cold. I do not mind; in fact, I find it a relief that their insistent badgering about remembering has come to a momentary stop, but I know my reprieve won't last for long.

"We're going to Hogwarts today," Hermione tells me as I enter the kitchen for breakfast, and I search my memory for anything about this new place.

So far, I've been to St Mungo's, the Burrow, Grimmauld Place and, under the protection of an invisibility cloak that supposedly belonged to my father, Diagon Alley. Still, the name is familiar, and I'm sure this Hogwarts place has been mentioned earlier.

"What's that?" I ask lightly and take my share of toast.

I note that neither Ron nor Hermione seem to have expected the name to mean anything to me, so there's that at least.

"It's our school, mate," Ron tells me.

"Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, founded around 990 A.D.

by Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff and Salazar Slytherin," Hermione lectures and I am sure she would have gone on had not Ron interrupted her.

"Really? I didn't know that, and I've still got all my memories," he says and she turns to him with a frown.

"If you'd ever bothered to read Hogwarts: A History, you would have known when the school was founded," she chastises him, and it sounds to me as if this was an argument they've had many times before.

"I wouldn't have remembered it anyway," he answers lightly with a shrug.

"Hogwarts is very important to you, Harry. A lot of things have happened there, both god and bad," Hermione says and turns to me, and I sigh.

Before they told me about Hogwarts, I didn't even know what it was, so it holds no importance to me whatsoever. The fact that Hermione assumes it does annoys me, just like all other assumptions they make about me when they claim to know me, but I say nothing.

"Do we have to go?" I ask carefully, and when they both turn to stare at me, I realize it would have been better to just stay quiet, but I am growing tired of being dragged around the country to visit places and people I have no recollection of, only to feel guilty when I see their disappointment.

"Don't you want your memories back?" Hermione asks, baffled, and I sigh again because I know that it is here that our opinions differ.

"I don't miss them," I tell them, willing them to understand. "It's not like I remember any of it, so…"

"But it's your life, Harry!" Hermione exclaims. "It's your memories – it's _you_!"

I close my eyes in defeat, for I know now that they do not understand. Perhaps they never will, and this realization weight heavily on my mind. Will I forever live as a bleak shadow of the man from their memories, forever falling short of their expectations and giving nothing but disappointment? I hope not, but right now, it sure seems like it.


	9. Chapter 8

**VIII. **We have passed through a gate guarded by winged boars and now, the castle of Hogwarts is visible up ahead, towering before us with its many towers and turrets. A gentle breeze spreads waves through the green grass and whispers among the trees in the great forest that borders the school grounds.

"The Forbidden Forest," Hermione tells me when she sees where I'm looking.

"Ooh, we've been in there many times, mate," Ron says with a grin.

"Isn't it, you know… forbidden?" I ask as the gravel crunches underfoot and the castle grows closer.

"Didn't stop us," Ron answers smugly and Hermione rolls her eyes.

We're met on the stairs by an elderly woman who looks stern in spite of her welcoming smile, a tartan shawl over her shoulders and a pointed hat on her head.

"Harry, Hermione, Ronald," she greets us warmly. "Welcome back."

"Good day, professor McGonagall," Hermione answers brightly. "Or is it Headmistress, now?"

McGonagall smiles and chuckles. "It'll take me years to get used to being the headmistress," she says lightly before turning to me. "Hello, Harry. My name's Minerva McGonagall and I was your professor in transfiguration, but I understand you don't remember this?"

"Eh, no, I don't," I answer, confused but pleasantly surprised by her approach, and we shake hands. The fact that she does not seem to expect anything of me is a relief.

"How about a tour of the castle?" she suggests and claps her hands together.

The castle is truly magnificent with its stone arches and gothic windows, and I find myself looking around in wonder. McGonagall takes us to the Great Hall and tells me of the candles that float in the air during the meals as I marvel at the fantastic ceiling, and then there's the Library with the many books, the Hospital Wing and the Gryffindor common room. The moving staircases bring a smile to my lips and I find myself in a lengthy discussion with an animated painting. Even though I haven't been able to do anything at all with the wand, I decide I quite like magic.

"You should return in September when the school is in session. The halls are so terribly empty now," McGonagall tells me as she leads the way out onto the grounds, Hermione and Ron trailing silently behind us. I can feel their gazes, boring into my back as they wait for some kind of reaction, the barest of hints that I remember something about this place.

"You will open again in September?" Hermione asks and McGonagall smiles back at her over her shoulder.

"Oh, yes. The restoration is complete and we have found capable personnel to fill all positions. Nothing can stop us from welcoming another batch of students on September the first," she assures them with a smile, then adds: "You are welcome as well, should you fish to finish your education."

From the corner of my eye, I see Hermione hesitate and her gaze flickers towards me before she answers, regret in her voice.

"I would very much like to, Headmistress, but I'm afraid I can't."

"Well, if you change your mind, the offer still stands," McGonagall answers, seemingly picking up on the tension between us, and leads us over the lawn. "Ah, here we are, Mr Potter. The Black Lake – do look out for the Giant Squid…"


	10. Chapter 9

**IX. **I am standing in the hallway of Grimmauld Place, the house dark strangely intimidating around me in spite of the fact that I have now lived here for about three months. My eyes are closed and I stand with my back against the wall and head leaned back against the faded wallpaper as I, once again, eavesdrop on Hermione and Ron in the kitchen.

"… we'll just have to keep trying until something works," Ron is saying, but he sounds tired and resigned as if he has already given up.

"We've tried almost everything, Ron – nothing's working," Hermione answers, her tone urgent even as she keeps her voice quiet. "I just don't know what to do anymore."

"Don't worry, okay?" Ron says, but he sounds troubled. "It's Harry we're talking about – he'll remember."

"I hope you're right," Hermione whispers, her voice almost cracking with emotion. "I just- I can't stand seeing him like this."

"It'll be fine, 'Mione…" Ron mumbles, but he does not sound convinced.

I squeeze my eyes more firmly shut and wish I'd have gone down for dinner just a few minutes later so that I had not heard this, but it is too late. The grief I am causing them, the burden we are to each other… I should end it all by leaving, but where would I go in this world I know nothing about?

I shake my head sharply to rid myself of those thoughts and push away from the wall. When I enter the kitchen, the table is set and Hermione is taking the pot from the stove with flowery oven gloves to protect her from the heat.

"Hey, mate! Just in time for dinner," Ron calls with forced cheer and I give him a weak smile.

The silence between us is heavy as we eat. We've lived together for three months now, yet it feels as if we know nothing about each other; they only see the Harry that I am not, and I cannot befriend people who do not see me.

"What do you say about leaving the house tomorrow?" Hermione breaks the silence and I look up at her as I hold the spoon to my mouth and blow on the hot stew. "We're thinking of going to Privet Drive in Surrey; you grew up there with your relatives, so we thought―"

"No."

The word has left me before I have a chance to think and I regret it as soon as they turn to stare at me. Instead of backing down, I square my shoulders and steel myself for the confrontation.

"I don't want to go."

"Harry…" Hermione begins, but she does not seem to know what to say, so she sighs heavily. "Please, Harry. We have to keep trying."

"No," I repeat, and suddenly, the words are coming to me. "We don't _have to_ anything – _I_ don't have to, because I don't _want_ to."

"Harry, mate," Ron tries, but I cut him off.

"I'm tired of this," I say, and the words come out sharper and more forceful than I intend them to but I don't care. "I'm tired of having to apologize, _again and again_, for not remembering! I'm tired of not being _the right Harry_, tired of seeing your disappointment when I'm not who you want me to be. I'm just…"

I rise suddenly and the chair clatters to the floor behind me as I clench my fists on the table and lean forwards with my head ducked and my eyes squeezed shut. Breathing deeply to get a hold of my emotions, I shake my head. Then I look up and find them both staring at me, their faces filled with too many emotions for me to name.

"I just want to be me," I say quietly and leave.


	11. Chapter 10

**X. **I hear an unfamiliar voice in the kitchen when I come down for lunch one day, and I pause briefly and listen. So far, I have met a very strict number of people and only individuals that Hermione and Ron have chosen to introduce me to with the hope that this familiar face will be the one to make me remember. The fact that there is a new person for me to meet make me sigh wearily as I have hoped that they would give it up after my outburst, and so I walk into the kitchen with a dejected expression, ready to face their disappointment yet again.

The stranger is a tall man with a rather round face and kind eyes who stands by the fireplace and talks with Ron.

"Can't believe you're staying here at this depressing place," he says just as I walk in.

"Harry," Hermione greets me and stands, attracting the others' attention to me. "This is Neville," she continues carefully and gestures to the stranger.

He smiles warmly at me and takes the room in long strides.

"Neville Longbottom," he introduces himself and shakes my hand.

"I'm Harry," I answer even though I'm sure he already knows this, but he just nods in turn.

"We've been talking, Ron and I," Hermione says slowly, sounding as if she is speaking to a small child. "And we have come to the conclusion that this… _situation_ is not sustainable."

An uneasy silence settles over the kitchen when she pauses, only broken by Ron's shuffling as he looks everywhere but at me.

"We have decided that Ron and I will return to Hogwarts to finish our magical education, and in the meantime, you will live with Neville," Hermione tells me and I scowl at her.

It angers me that the two of them have decided this without me when it clearly affects me. I agree, of course, that what we've been doing so far is not working, but shouldn't they at least ask me before they decide where I'm supposed to live, and with whom? What if I wanted to stay here, on my own? And even though this Neville guy seems nice enough, he's a virtual stranger to me, and now I'm supposed to live with him?

I glare at them but neither of them will look at me, clearly anxious and avoiding my dark gaze. I feel a hand on my arm and turn to look at Neville who gives me an awkward smile.

"I'll help you pack your things," he says and I reluctantly follow him out of the kitchen.

Perhaps I imagine it, but I think I hear two sighs of relief as I leave.

"I'm sorry about that," Neville says quietly as we walk up the creaking stairs. "I thought they'd talked to you."

The confession eases my worries, if only slightly. At least Neville wasn't in on this.

"It's not your fault," I mumble in answer.


	12. Chapter 11

**XI. **There are a lot of things that Ron and Hermione have told me are mine but like with so much else, I feel no attachment to these things that belong to the other Harry. Therefore, it is with but a bag of clothes that I find myself with my jaw slack as I turn slowly in circles. Neville has taken me to a dome-like structure of glass with sunlight streaming in to shine on the virtual jungle of plants of all kinds that grow in pots and raised flower beds all around me. It is warm and the air is thick with humidity, and my every sense is telling me that we are no longer in Britain.

"Wow," I breath.

A chuckle startles me; I've forgotten I'm not alone. Neville is watching me with a smile and there is a glint of pride in his eyes.

"Welcome to the Greenhouse," he says and slaps away a plant that was creeping up his shoulder as if it has a mind of its own. "A word of caution; stay on the paths. The plants can be a bit untrustworthy until you get to know them."

I shift a bit and move to make sure that I'm in the middle of the winding path of brick tiles as I glance nervously at the plants surrounding me.

"How do I 'get to know' plants?" I ask.

"Oh, don't worry. They'll love you once you've watered them a few times," Neville says with a smile and gestures for me to follow. "This way."

He leads me along one of the winding paths, now and then swatting at a plant that's a bit too intrusive, and a brick wall appears in the greenery. Flowerbeds line the wall with vines climbing up the bricks and dressing the wall in a multitude of greens with splashes of red and yellow. In the middle there's an arched wooden door painted in bright red.

It opens up to a small and cluttered kitchen with herbs hanging from the ceiling to dry along with pans and pots and there's a round table with chairs by a window where herbs grow in chipped and mismatched mugs. Through an arch there's an equally small and cluttered living room with a worn old couch that looks very comfortable and faces a fireplace with potted plants on the mantelpiece, and there are bookcases full of texts about herbology.

"Bathroom," Neville announces and opens a door for me to peek in; I'm not even surprised to find an enormous spider plant filling the tub, dark red leaves spilling over the lid and brushing the floor. "Sorry about the red spider, it needed a proper shower," Neville says and moves on.

"My room," he tells me and gestures to another door, then stops by the third and last door and opens it. "And this'll be your room."

Just like the other rooms, it's pretty small. The simple, white walls stand in stark contrast to the dark wood of the floor and ceiling. The bed is queen-sized and has a metal frame painted in white, and thought it's a far cry from the grand bed I slept in at Grimmauld Place, it looks somewhat more inviting with its fluffy pillows and knitted blanket. Even here, there are plants everywhere; a hanging plant with little purple flowers reaches towards the floor from atop the dresser, and beside the dresser there's a small tree growing out of a big urn, blocking most of the view of the floor mirror that's behind it. Then there's a plant on the chair in the corner, and one on the bedside table that climbs the wall over the bed with grand trumpets in red and there are pots lining the wall by the door and a big plant on the windowsill that blocks the view almost completely.

"I'm sorry about all the plants," Neville says with a sheepish smile. "This room's been empty since I moved in, so I've used it as storage, and…"

"I like it," I tell him with a wide smile and Neville smiles in turn.

"Don't worry. I don't think any of these plants are dangerous… No, no they're not," he assures me after taking a look around, and for the first time, I laugh.


	13. Chapter 12

**XII. **"Plants with this kind of leaves like getting showered, like the red spider in the tub," Neville tells me after breakfast the next day.

We're walking through the Greenhouse at a leisurely pace, now and then stopping for Neville to tell me something specific about one plant or another. Now, he's rubbing the leaves of a big, green plant between his fingers while smiling at me, and I nod to show that I understand. I've only just met Neville, but I've already decided that I like seeing him when he's with his plants, because his whole being seems to shine up. It is obvious that this is what he loves to do.

"Over here, you see these plants," Neville goes on and crosses the brick path to a group of low plants with rounded leaves that grow in a raised flowerbed. I crouch beside him to see what it is he's showing me as he gently lifts one of the leaves. "They have little hairs on their leaves, you see, making them seem all fuzzy? That generally means that they don't want to be showered, so avoid getting water on their leaves."

"Okay," I answer and Neville smiles brightly at me again, petting the leaf. If I'm not mistaken, the plant actually leans into his touch.

"They have pretty thick leaves and stems, if you compare it to the other plant we looked at, right? That means that they can absorb more water and keep it for a longer time, so we don't need to water them as often."

We rise and continue along the path and I find some plants swaying a bit towards me. It's a bit scary as I have no idea if these plants are dangerous or not, but they somewhat remind me of curious dogs that sniff you for the first time.

"For how long have you lived here, Neville?" I ask curiously.

"Almost three months, now," he answers over his shoulder and I gape at him.

"Three months?" I repeat in disbelief and look around with wide eyes. This place looks as if it's been here for years.

"I had help," Neville says as if it's no big deal, and then he stops by a line of potted plants that stand on a narrow table, sticks sticking up from the pots to support what looks like grey green tentacles that have wrapped themselves around their canes. "These guys are related to muggle orchids, so they barely want any water at all. Every tenth day, you lift them out of their pots and dip them into a bucket of water, just for a few seconds, and then let them drip of before going back into their pots."

"Really? That's it?" I ask in surprise, and Neville nods eagerly.

"They're really easy to maintain, unless you overwater them, of course."

I yelp in surprise when something touches my hand and jump back to see one of those grey green tentacles reaching for me, wavering slightly in the air. Neville laughs merrily and I turn wide eyes to him.

"Don't worry, the orchids are harmless. I wouldn't recommend wearing rings, though, because they're fond of shiny things."

Hesitantly, I reach out and touch the tentacle and watch in wonder as it wraps itself around my fingers and squeezes lightly. It's almost as if we're shaking hands. Another plant soon reaches for my other hand and in the end I'm not released until I've shaken hands with all of them.

"Do you remember the plant at the kitchen table this morning?" Neville asks me as we walk on.

"The cacti?" I ask, remembering the pulsing and squirming heap of bulges.

"Yes," Neville confirms and smiles at me over his shoulder as he stokes the stem of a palm-like plant in passing. "That's a Mimbulus mimbeltonia, and it's a bit like a cacti because it almost doesn't need any water at all. Be careful not to touch it, though."

"Why?" I ask suspiciously.

"Well, it you're gentle and it likes it, it'll just croon at you, but if you probe it too harshly, it'll squirt stinksap all over you and the kitchen."

I scrunch my nose up in disgust and resolve to never touch the plant; I don't know what stinksap is, but it sounds gross.

Up ahead, there is a small clearing, a round, tiled area with only one big plant in an urn in the middle, its leaves a dark green with small, red berries gathered under them and its big flowers red as blood. The whole Greenhouse smells headily of flowers and moist soil, but this one emits a heavy, sweet smell that stands out from all the others.

"That's a Vampireflower," Neville tells me when he notices that I've stopped to look. From the corner of my eye, I see him come to stand beside me, but I can't take my eyes off the plant.

"That's a weird name," I mumble.

"It's quite fitting, actually," Neville says slowly. "It doesn't drink water, but blood."

This makes me turn to stare at him with wide eyes, and he smiles slightly.

"It's just a couple of drops every other day, but if it feels threatened, it can drain a man."

I gulp and glance at the plant, and I'm relieved when we walk away from it, it's big, dark leaves shivering slightly as if it knows that we're there.

"Why do you have a plant like that?" I mumble after a moment.

"It's a very rare species and difficult to come by," Neville answers, gesturing with his hands in eagerness. "And it's very useful in potions based on blood, like the Blood-Replenishing potion."

I nod slowly but glance back warily over my shoulder all the same.

"Don't worry, you won't need to water it," Neville reassured me. "This guy, however, I thought you could take care of."

We stop again, this time before an equally big plant but with leaves a lighter green with pale tentacles sticking out from underneath said leaves to hang over the lip of the urn. There is only one flower, but its big and doesn't really look like a flower at all with two flat, oval sides lined with teeth.

"This is a Humaflora, closely related to the muggle Dionaea muscipula, or Venus flytrap, but the magical version is a lot bigger and more intelligent. And it drinks tea."

Every thought in my head comes to an abrupt stop and I turn to look at Neville in surprise. "It drinks tea?" I repeat weakly, and Neville nods with a big smile.

"Yes. Green mint tea, actually; one cup every morning. Think you can do that?"

"Eh, yeah. Sure," I answer and manage a smile.

I have no doubt that my time here with Neville will be weird and full of surprises, but so far, I like it a whole lot more than living at Grimmauld Place with Ron and Hermione.

Then it hits me: "Wait – did you say _drink_?"


	14. Chapter 13

**XIII. **With great care, I take out the soaked leaves and place the tea holder aside on a saucer to prevent it from dripping all over the kitchen. I then pour it into a cup of fine china, the tea smoking hot and smelling wonderfully, before I take the cup and gingerly carry it out into the Greenhouse.

"Not right now," I mumble to the orchids when they reach for me as I pass them, my eyes glued to the cup to make sure that I don't spill. "I'll shake hands with you later," I assure them when they droop, and they immediately straighten again.

I make it thought the Greenhouse to the Humaflora without spilling and place the cup on the small, spindly table that stands beside the plant's urn. As the plant turns towards the cup, I take a few steps back and wait with baited breath when pale tentacles reach out to take the cup and lift it. It's ridiculous how nervous I am as the Humaflora lifts the cup and sips the tea and I hold my breath as I await its reaction.

It promptly holds the cup out and tips it upside down to pour the tea onto the tiles.

"Neville!" I shout in exasperated frustration and fist my hair as the plant places the cup back onto the little table and turns away, actually crossing its tentacles beneath the leaves. "It poured the tea out again!"

Neville appears between the plants, chuckling lightly with a streak of dirt on his cheek and wand in hand; a flicker of his wand is all it takes for the tea on the ground to disappear. The Humaflora waves politely at him and he waves back as I glare at the bloody plant.

"He's a bit picky when it comes to his tea," Neville says carefully and picks up the cup to walk me back to the kitchen.

"Bloody rude, is what he is," I mumble grumpily. The fact that we are speaking of a plant as if it is a person passes by unnoticed; after a couple of days at the Greenhouse, I have no doubt that these plants have personality.

One of the plants reaches out to pat me sympathetically on the shoulder with a thick leaf, and I give it a slight smile in thanks.

"Maybe I shoulder do the tea?" Neville suggests carefully.

"Oh, no," I protest. "I'll make that plant drink my tea if it's the last thing I do!"

The light ping of a bell sounds through the Greenhouse and makes me pause in surprise.

"Customer," Neville explains and hands me the cup. "Try again with the tea tomorrow, I'm sure he'll survive another day without tea."

"It's drink or dry up," I grumble and continue to the kitchen as Neville disappears off among the plants to take care of the customer.


	15. Chapter 14

**Thank you for the great reviews I got on the previous chapter – reading them really put a smile on my face and I'm glad to hear that you appreciate my plants! :D**

**XIV. **The customer has short hair so blonde it's almost white and his skin is pale. He carries himself proudly with a straight back, square shoulders and head held high, and his robes look expensive as they hug his lean frame and billow out in all the right places. He's talking with Neville who's gesturing to some vines. Neither of them can see me because I'm hiding behind one of the bigger plants and am peeking at them through the leaves, and that is definitely a good thing.

My eyes are wide as I stare at the unknown man who leans forward to rub one of the purple leaves and there is curiosity coursing through me because for the first time, something stirred in me when I first laid eyes on this stranger. It's not a feeling I can name, not a reaction I can identify, but there is definitely something about him. It's not a romantic feeling, nor is it recognition. What it is, I do not know, but I intend to find out.

The blonde straightens and says something to Neville with a decisive nod and then turns towards me. Just as I am sure he'll catch sight of me, the big plant I'm hiding behind moves and its leaves hide me from view. I frown and move to push the leaves out of the way but tentacles wrap loosely around my arm to stop me and hold me back, almost… protectively. I don't understand and it's weird, feeling as if these plants that surround me know something that I don't, but I stay where I am.

I hear Neville and the stranger walk towards me, their steps against the bricks and the click of the customer's polished dress shoes as they walk past right by me. I tense, wishing to get a last look of the blonde, but the tentacle around my arm squeezes lightly and I stay where I am. It's not until the ping of the bell sounds again that the plants release me and Neville blinks in surprise when I appear out of the greenery.

"Who was he?" I immediately ask and I don't care about how breathless I sound.

I need to know who is he is and why he makes that something stir in me when no one else affects me in such a way.

"What?" Neville asks, obviously confused, and I step up to his side.

"The customer – the blonde man. Who is he?"

Neville stares at me, confused and surprised by my sudden eagerness. Then he sighs and nods and sets off towards the kitchen, and I fall into step beside him, waiting for his answer.

"His name is Draco Malfoy," he tells me, keeping an eye on me as we walk. For some reason he seems reluctant to tell me of the stranger, but I want to know.

"Did I know him?" I prompt.

"Yes," Neville sighs deeply and I frown at him.

"But?"

"But…" he pauses as we get to the kitchen and I keep my eyes on him as we sit down by the table. "Well, you weren't friends, Harry."

I frown. "Why not?"

"Actually, I don't know," Neville answers apologetically. "The first time I saw you together, you already seemed to hate each other, and it only got worse from there. But… Harry."

Neville looks me in the eye with a seriousness I am surprised to see in him and I nod to show that I am listening.

"I don't want you to judge Malfoy because of that. Much has changed since the way – Malfoy had changed."

I nod in understanding and Neville gives me a slight smile, looking relieved that the conversation is over. I answer the smile.

"Thanks for telling me," I say and he looks confused again.

"Well, of course," he says. "You asked."

"Yeah, well… I doubt Ron and Hermione would have told me," I say and look away, surprised by the bitterness in my own voice.

Neville, who was on his way to get up, sinks into the chair again and look at me, worry and care in his gaze.

"I think they would have," he tells me but I shake my head.

"Even if they had, they wouldn't have been so… unbiased about it," I tell him and look him in the eye. "They'd have insisted that I still hate him, Malfoy, because they want _everything_ to be the same. No matter what I do it's not right because it's not what the _other_ Harry would have done."

It all comes rushing out of me and I'm not really sure where it comes from so suddenly, but it feels good to tell him and in difference to Ron and Hermione, I can see in his eyes that he understands.

"They were your best friends, Harry. Still are, in a way," he tells me and I want to scoff like some brat but don't. "You were always together, the three of you. I'm sure they're just doing what they think is best for you."

"Then they're wrong," I say hotly. "They just want me to be someone that I'm not."

"That's because they think that you are still the old Harry," Neville corrects me.

I frown because I understand but I don't want to, childishly wishing to cling to my petty grudge but feeling it slip from my hold. Still, it does not mean that I like them or wish to return to them.

"And you?" I ask to escape my own thoughts. "What do you think?"

Neville watches me quietly as he thinks for a moment before answering. "I think… that the old Harry might return with the memories – if they ever return. Until then, you're just you."

I feel oddly touched by his words and smile widely.

"Thank you, Neville."


	16. Chapter 15

**XV. **"Do you want to help with dinner, Harry?"

I look up from the book on herbology that I've borrowed to pass the time and see Neville in the doorway to the kitchen. His question surprises me, because neither Ron nor Hermione ever asked me to do anything if they didn't think it might bring my memories back, and so I find myself asking:

"Why? Did the other Harry like to cook?"

Neville blinks at me, surprised, and I remember that he isn't like them.

"I don't know," he answers. "I never saw him cook, but…"

"Of course I'll help," I tell him quickly and put the book down with a smile to join him in the kitchen. "It's just… Hermione and Ron never let me do anything."

"Why not?" Neville asks, surprised again as he places a cutting board and a knife before me.

"I guess they thought I couldn't," I shrug.

"The fact that you don't remember how to do it doesn't make you incapable of doing it," Neville states without a hint of doubt and I send him a grateful smile.

"I want you to wash, peel and cut the carrots; think you can do that?"

"I'll do my best," I promise seriously as if it is a great quest I am undertaking and Neville grins at me.

"Take the time you need," he tells me with a laugh and gives me three carrots.

We stand beside each other in comfortable silence, me slowly cutting the carrots with great care to get it right as Neville chops parsnip, celery and onions beside me.

"What about Malfoy?" I ask after a moment. "Does he like to cook?"

"I don't know," Neville answers with a slight laugh. "But I can't imagine he does."

"Why not?"

"The Malfoy family is an old one with old money," Neville says. "I can't imagine he's cooked once in his life."

Silence settles between us again; the steady _thunk_ of knives against hardwood sounds through the kitchen and the Mimbulus mimbeltonia pulses slightly on the table.

"So… what does Malfoy like to do?" I ask casually after a while, but the amused look Neville gives me tells me I don't fool him.

"I don't know him that well," he tells me thoughtfully. "But I think he likes brewing potions…"

"Potions?" I repeat. Perhaps, if I try doing what Malfoy does, I'll learn to know him a bit, so I ask: "Can I try that?"

Neville pauses for a moment, seemingly reluctant, but then shrugs.

"Why not?" he says. "I've still got my potions equipment from Hogwarts, so I guess you could try that. I'm afraid I won't be of much help, though – I'm awful at potions."

I smile and for a moment, I want to ask if the other Harry was good or bad at potions – then I resolutely decide that I don't care.


	17. Chapter 16

**Once again, I just want to say THANK YOU to those who've taken their time to review. I always have my little doubts about a story – ****_is this in character? Would s/he really react like that? Does it seem probable?_**** – so it's great to read your comments and have my worries alleviated! *hearts* **

**XVI. **I have got an old, worn copy of _Magical Drafts and Potions_ propped up against the Mimbulus mimbeltonia's pot, cracked open on the page for the Cure for Boils as the potion bubbles beside me. I hover over the concoction, counting the time in my head before quickly lowering the temperature and taking my wand out of my back pocket to wave it over the brew. For a tense moment I hold my breath and wait, unsure of if my wand-waving will do any good at all when I can do no magic, but the potion changes colour the way the book says it should and I breath out in relief.

I consult the book for the time – _"Leave to brew and return in 33-45 minutes"_ – and wash my hands in the zink before I walk out into the Greenhouse while drying my hands with a kitchen towel. Neville and Mr Weasley are standing just outside the door, a mix of various tools spread out around them, a green hose coiled like a long snake beside them.

"How's it going?" I ask with a smile and lean against the doorframe.

"This is great, Harry!" Mr Weasley exclaims and turns to look at me over his shoulder. He's sitting with his legs crossed on the brick tiles and Neville is standing behind him, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. "You'll be able to water the flowers in no time!"

"This is a bit harder than we thought it would be," Neville admits and contradicts Mr Weasley with a sheepish smile and I laugh.

The doorbell sounds and I turn in the direction of the door. Neville straightens and pats Mr Weasley on the shoulder.

"I'll go see who it is," he says and disappears among the plants, leaving me with somewhat conflicted feelings; I hope it's Draco Malfoy because I want to see him again, but I'm not sure I want him to see me. Does he know that I have no recollection of the past or will he act as if we are still enemies?

"Give me the spanner, would you?" Mr Weasley says and distracts me from my thoughts.

"The spanner? Which one is that?" I ask and look around at the mess that's spread around the slowly balding man who I've found is crazy about muggle stuff, be it televisions or plugs. Seeing this mess, I doubt I'd have been able to find the spanner even if I'd have known what it looks like.

"Eh, well, it looks like this, see?" Mr Weasley tries to describe it to me by using hand gestures and I pick up a nearby tool.

"You mean this?"

"No… no, I think that's called a plier. Let's see…" he mumbles and goes onto his knees, shifting thought the mess in search for the spanner. I crouch down and join him in the search, and that is how Neville finds us when he returns, both of us on our knees rooting around for the spanner that Mr Weasley apparently needs.

"Harry?" he calls for my attention and I turn around to find a blonde woman by his side, a slightly dazed look to her gaze.

"Um, hello?" I offer uncertainly and rise, drying my hands off on my pants.

"Hello, my name is Luna Lovegood," she introduces herself and we shake hands.

"You… don't know me?" I ask slowly, because everyone else I've known so far has greeted me by name.

"No, but I knew the old Harry," Luna answers airily as if it should be obvious that we're two different persons. "I'd like to get to know you, too," she adds and cocks her head to the side as she watches me with large eyes.

"Yeah, sure," I mumble, slightly uneasy. "I'd love to―"

"Merlin's beard!" Mr Weasley exclaims and I whip around in time to see water virtually explode from the pipe he's been tinkering on.


	18. Chapter 17

**XVII. **The wireless plays softly from where it has been squeezed in among the herbs growing in the kitchen window as I sample some of the rosemary for dinner while Neville sits the table. Once I'd oriented myself in the kitchen, I've found that I quite like cooking and the domestic feeling that comes with pottering about in the kitchen while singing along with Celestina Warbeck on the wireless. From what I've heard of my past life, I've understood that this warm homely feeling was something scarce in the other Harry's life, and that makes me feel as though I'm creating my very own life, independent of my forgotten past.

The bell pings out in the Greenhouse and both Neville and I frown up at the ticking clock on the wall over the doorway to the living room; why would a costumer come at this time in the evening?

"I'll get it," Neville says and I nod.

He disappears out into the Greenhouse that is dark with evening and I stay by the stove, making sure not to burn the pork chops. The sound of voices is carried to me and curiosity makes me slip over to the wireless and lower the volume.

"… satisfied with the potions I've provided?" sounds a familiar voice and I jerk when I recognize it as Draco Malfoy's. What's he doing here?

"There's been nothing wrong with the potions you've delivered," Neville answers and I note that he sounds uneasy as if this is a discussion he hasn't been looking forward to.

"Then I would like to know your reason for changing supplier," Malfoy answers, his tone sharp.

"I have… employed… an assistant not too long ago," Neville explains and I realize he must be talking about me; I don't like the thought that I might be the cause for this row between them. "He's proven himself capable of brewing the potions for the plants."

"I cannot imagine that his potions measure up to mine in quality," Malfoy scoffs.

"No, they probably don't," Neville agrees and I cannot feel offended because I know he's right. "But it cuts down on the costs and he enjoys doing them."

For a moment there is nothing but tense silence and if it wasn't for the fact that the bell hasn't pinged, I'd have thought that Malfoy has left. Then Malfoy breaks the silence, and he sounds suspicious.

"This assistant of yours… he must be very recently employed."

"He's been here for a couple of months now."

"Really? Then how come I have yet to meet him? It's been less than two months since I was here last."

"Ah, well…" Neville mumbles, and even though I can't see either of them, it is clear that he's trying to come up with some excuse. "He… must have been busy," he finishes lamely.

"I see…" Malfoy answers disbelievingly. "Well, then. I must say it is… deplorable that our business is over, Mr Longbottom."

"Yes," Neville agrees despondently. "Please send your mother my regards."

"I will," Malfoy says coldly and then the bell pings.

I turn up the volume of the radio again and hurry back to the stove to serve the food, looking busy when Neville comes in. For a moment, I consider pretending that I haven't heard a thing, but as usual, curiosity wins out.

"What did Malfoy want?" I ask as Neville sinks into his seat and I place his plate before him.

"So you heard that?" he asks tiredly without anger and I give him a sheepish smile. He rubs his face as I sit down across the table and pour us drinks, and then he sighs heavily and explains: "Malfoy comes here a little now and then because his mother has taken to gardening after the war, but I've also been buying fertilizers and bug-repellents from him. Now that you've taken to potion brewing, there's no need to pay for them anymore since you can do them, so…"

He shrugs and even though I can see the logic behind it, I cannot help but feel bad for taking the business from Malfoy. Neville must have seen it on my face, because he smiles reassuringly.

"Don't worry, he won't suffer for it. I told you he's got old money to live off of, didn't I? I'd just hoped I wouldn't have to have the discussion with him, but…" He shrugs and smiles somewhat helplessly as if saying that there's nothing to be done about it.

"He did seem pretty angry, though…" I mumble.

"Professional pride, I imagine. He probably didn't like the idea that there might be a better potioneer than him out there. No harm done; let's eat. This smells fantastic," he tells me and I smile widely at the praise.

For a few minutes we eat in silence, the wireless babbling in the background and the Mimbulus mimbeltonia pulsing between us in the middle of the table. Then something hits me and I frown thoughtfully.

"Why didn't you just tell him about me?" I ask and Neville looks up, his fork halfway to him mouth.

"I don't want too many people knowing where you are," he tells me quietly and I feel a burst of offence; I'm not some defenceless child who needs to be hidden away in safety! But he look at me with a silent plead for understanding, and so I bite back the indignation and nod for him to go on. "While you were still at St Mungo's, someone leaked that you've lost your memories. There are still some Death Eaters on the loose and if it comes out that you can't do magic, they'll think you're and easy target."

My indignation ebbs away when I realize that Neville just wants me to be safe, and I do realize that there isn't much I can do to ward off magic when I haven't gotten any of my own. The fact that he cares makes me warm and I smile at him to show that I understand. His shoulders slump in relief.

"I hope the plants behaved today?" he asks and changes the subject, and I let him.

"Yeah, I actually drank tea with the Humaflora and it even applauded me on the tea!" I tell him with triumphant excitement and he smiles happily.

"See? I told you they'd like you!"


	19. Chapter 18

**XVIII. **I hum along to Celestina Warbeck as I water the herbs in the kitchen, the window slightly ajar to let in the fresh air and air out the smell of the frying bacon in the pan. The sudden arrival of an owl makes me duck as it flies through the open window, narrowly missing my head before circling the kitchen to drop today's copy of _the_ _Daily Prophet_ onto the table and take perch on the back of one of the chairs. It sticks its leg out with the little pouch tied to it and I've seen Neville do this a lot of times so I go over to the tin on one of the shelves and take out a knut as payment. It leaves as soon as I've paid it and I shake my head lightly as I pick up the paper.

"That the _Prophet_?" Neville asks as he comes into the kitchen, his hair wet and dripping after his shower.

I nod and move to hand it to him when I catch sight of the front page and freeze. Slowly, I unfold the paper and stare at the picture that fills the whole front, my mind completely blank as I stand absolutely still.

"What's wrong?" Neville asks worriedly and I look up at him jerkily.

"There's a picture… of me," I mumble and show it to him, and he takes the paper with a frown.

His eyes dart over the page and he pales when he reads the headline which I barely noticed, too distracted by seeing myself in black and white, shying away from the camera.

**HERO WITHOUT MAGIC**

"How did they find out?" Neville whispers and sinks into his chair as he stares at the paper. Then, in a flurry of motion and pages, he flips the _Prophet_ open to read the article.

To distract myself, I return to the stove to finish our breakfast, but my movements are mechanical and my thoughts in another place. I glance at Neville and the deep wrinkles of worry that line his forehead, and gulp. At first I was simply shocked to see a picture of myself blown up to cover the front page, but seeing Neville's reaction, I understand that this is very serious. With our discussion over dinner a few days ago, I can see why; now they know that I'm without memories _and_ magic, an easy victim should they only find me.

Just as I take the pan off the stove to serve the bacon, I hear the fire flare to life in the living room and startle so badly I almost drop the pan.

"Neville!" Hermione's voice sounds and he shoots up from the chair and hurries into the living room.

"I saw the paper just now!" I hear Neville state as I put the bacon on a plate and put another plate upside-down over it to keep it warm. Quietly, I go to stand in the doorway to the living room, leaning against the frame to see Neville on his knees on the floor, speaking with Hermione's head in the green flames. I'm quite sure I'd have had a heart attack if Neville hadn't explained the floo network to me.

"How did they find out?" Hermione asks in a demanding tone.

"I have no idea!" Neville answers

"You haven't let him out, have you?" Hermione goes on, and I frown darkly. Merlin, she's talking about me as if I'm a bloody dog!

"What?" Neville blurts out, and it warms my heart that he reacts to it, too. "No, he- he's been here, with me, all the time."

"Good. Did you tell anyone?"

"No, of course not!" Neville exclaims and my frown darkens at the unfair accusation.

"It could be anyone of the Weaslys," I point out coldly and cross my arms, and Hermione looks up at me for the first time, looking as if she's surprised that I'm there even though it's me and my safety we're talking about.

"They wouldn't―" she begins, but I cut her off.

"And Neville would?"

Her eyes widen and she immediately turns back to Neville. "I'm so sorry, that's not what I meant at all! I just don't understand how this could happen."

"It's okay. I understand," he says, but his smile is awkward and I know he doesn't really think so but he's too nice to say anything about it.

"Perhaps it would be best if Harry comes here, to Hogwarts," Hermione suggests but it's clear that she expects us to agree – or rather, expects Neville to agree, because she isn't talking to me at all. I clench my jaw angrily and glare at her, but she doesn't notice as she continues. "He'll be safe here, with us; it was wrong of us to make you take care of him from the beginning."

"Take care of?" Neville repeats, bewildered that she's once more speaking of me like some helpless dog. The thought that I'm helping Neville with the plants and the cooking and chores and potions doesn't even seem to cross her mind.

He glances at me questioningly and the fact that he's giving me the choice gives me the courage to say what I want.

"I want to stay here with Neville," I say determinedly and Hermione looks up at me with a frown.

"Harry, you don't understand―"

"No – _you're_ the one who doesn't understand, Hermione," I cut her off harshly and then turn to Neville. "Can I stay here?"

"Of course," Neville answers immediately without the least bit of hesitation. "I like having you here."

"Then I'm staying," I say with finality and stomp back out into the kitchen.


	20. Chapter 19

**XIX. **The plants wiggle happily as I stroke their soft leaves, the little hairs feeling almost like fur against my palm. I know that autumn reigns over the world outside of the Greenhouse and that winter is fast approaching, but in here it is as warm and humid as ever and I sit with my legs crossed under me in only a t-shirt. There're dirt-stains on it and my worn jeans as well as a few wet splatters from when I dipped the orchids in water. Beside me, the watercan is almost empty now that I've watered these furry little plants, so I'll have to make a trip to the water hose that Mr Weasley managed to install after two days of hard but joyous work.

The doorbell pings merrily and I look up with a slight frown. I know Neville is busy with repotting plants that want new soil before the winter and that he's got his hands full, but I'm not supposed to go off talking with random people. What if the customer recognizes me? Even so, I can't just leave them to roam the Greenhouse and get lost – what if they meet the Vampireflower?

Giving the plant a last pat, I rise from the brick path and brush the dust from my jeans before making my way through the Greenhouse to the entrance. My plan is to sneak up to the entrance and take a peek from behind a plant to see who it is, see but not seen, so that I can make sure that no one wanders off and gets into trouble with the plants. What I do not expect is to suddenly come face to face with Draco Malfoy who seems to have been searching for someone, and we both stop in our tracks and stare at each other. My instincts are telling me to hide among the plants as I know that they'll protect me, but I know it is ridiculous; he's already seen me, so the harm's already been done.

"Potter," he blurts in bafflement, his grey eyes narrowed and swiping over me, taking in the streaks of dirt on my clothes and the dark soil under my nails. Whoever he expected to find, it certainly wasn't me.

"Mr Malfoy," I answer, unsure of what else to say, and his eyes snap up to look into mine.

"You work here," Malfoy concludes with alarming speed, his gaze swiping over my frame again. "You're the assistant Neville talked about."

I still don't know what to say, so I say nothing and Malfoy continues.

"Is it true, then?" he asks, and when I still don't answer, he elaborates: "Is it true that you've lost your memory and magic?"

I know I shouldn't tell him, especially with my discussion with Neville and the article in the _Prophet_ fresh in my memory, but I dislike lying and deep down, I don't want Malfoy to believe that I hate him because of the past. I take a deep breath to steel myself, and the short word passes over my lips as little more than a breath.

"Yes."

I'm not sure how I expect Malfoy to react, but his frown surprises me.

"But the potions…" he begins slowly.

"I'm sorry for the wait, I was―"

Neville falls silent and comes to an abrupt halt when he finds us, his gaze darting back and forth between us before he utters a quiet: "Oh."


	21. Chapter 20

**XX. **The three of us are sitting in the kitchen, gathered around the table in tense silence. With Neville's reluctant acceptance, I've told Malfoy about what has happened to me since waking up in the Forbidden Forest and answered any questions that he's had. Now, Malfoy is staring at me as if he can't believe that I'm actually here while I draw circles on the table with my finger and Neville gently strokes the Mimbulus mimbeltonia; now and then I glance at him, expecting the crooning plant to erupt and spray the whole room in stinksap any moment. I purposely don't look at Malfoy, because that strange tingle, the stirring feeling I still can't name, is still there if not as strong as it was the first time I saw him.

"Nothing is ever normal with you, Potter," Malfoy mutters and I scowl at the table. I want to point out that I'm not the Potter he knows, but before I can open my mouth, Malfoy continues.

"So," Malfoy says and we both look up at him. "The Dark Lord and you killed each other, and then you were… _resurrected_ but without your memories and magic?" he summarizes, as sceptical about the resurrection as I was when I first heard about it.

Neville and I share a glance and then nod slowly.

"But you can brew potions, yes?" Malfoy asks and looks me in the eye, his gaze a steely grey with sharp intensity.

I nod wordlessly and cannot help but wonder, once again, what the cause for the strange feeling is.

"Which is why Longbottom no longer buys them from me," Malfoy goes on and I wince.

"Sorry," I mumble and hang my head but Malfoy just waves it off.

"That doesn't add up," Malfoy tells us. "You can't brew potions without magic."

"You can't?" Neville and I ask at the same time, and he looks just as surprised as I am.

"No!" Malfoy answers and frowns at us. "You should know this but, then again, considering how atrocious your grades were, it shouldn't come as a surprise that you don't," he grumbles before taking a deep breath. "No matter which potion you brew, you have to wave your wand over it at some stage, no? That is to release the magical properties of the ingredients – if a muggle waved a wand over a potion it would just turn into… foul tasting _soup_ because you have to have magic for the ingredients to react with."

"So I do have magic?" I ask with surprise and forget all about the strange feeling when Malfoy nods. "But why can't I use it, then?"

"There's a difference, isn't there? Between internal and external magic?" Neville suddenly says as if he just remembered it, and Malfoy raises a pale brow in surprise.

"Yes," he agrees slowly. "The fact that you have magic does not necessarily mean that you can cast spells with it, even though it usually does. See, your magic is internal and to be able to cast spells, you have to externalize it – that's where the wand comes in."

I nod slowly to show that I understand even though I'm not sure I do, and Malfoy continues.

"Your problem does not appear to be the existence of magic, but rather the externalization of it. The fact that you can brew potions should, theoretically, mean that you can perform other kinds of internal magic, as well."

"Really?" I ask and my eagerness surprises me. I have simply accepted that I have no magic, but if I do it would be brilliant and I smile happily as I think of all the amazing things I have seen magic do. "What kind of magic is internal?" I ask and lean forwards in eagerness.

"I'm no expert," Malfoy reluctantly admits. "But I imagine you should be able to ride a broom, apparate, occlude… perhaps perform an animagi transformation."

"That's very complicated magic," Neville points out and I'll have to trust his word on it because everything except for the part about riding a broom is utter gibberish to me.

"We will have to begin with flying," Malfoy agrees and Neville nods calmly.

I, however, end up staring at the blonde with wide eyes.

We?


	22. Chapter 21

**XXI. **The grass in brown is wilted in the field and the surrounding trees are all dark bark and bare branches reaching out, a carpet of mouldering leaves covering the ground underneath. The sky is overcast and the ground is wet; it's dripping from the trees from the previous rain. In spite of the rather depressing scenery, I am happy to be outside for the first time in a long time. While I like it in the Greenhouse and certainly don't miss the excursions with Ron and Hermione, it is good to breathe the crisp autumn air.

It is in this field I am standing, wrapped in several layers of clothing and looking like I have gained 20 pounds overnight due to all the protective Quidditch gear Neville has put on me. I am quite sure I could roll back home – it certainly feels like it, and it makes me eye to broom on the ground beside me with doubt. Is this really going to work?

"Hold your hand out over the broom," Malfoy says from where he stands a bit away, his arms crossed over his chest and a grey cloak that looks ridiculously expensive keeping him warm along with black leather gloves and a thin scarf elegantly wrapped around his neck.

In spite of the slight redness of his nose and cheeks he looks too good to be standing in this dreary field so I quickly turn to look at Neville who's sitting on a stump partly covered by moss, blowing on his cold hands in an attempt to warm them.

"Potter," Malfoy snaps and I reluctantly turn to look at him, that feeling stirring inside when I find his grey gaze directed at me.

"Hand over the broom," he demands and I hasten to obey even though I have no idea what good it will do. "Now say up."

"Up?" I ask in surprised disbelief. Seriously, does he expect the broom to jump into my hand?

"Yes, Potter, _up_. And say it to the broom, not to me," he answers impatiently.

I look down at the broom beside me, sigh and decide to give it a go.

"_Up_!"

The broom smacks into my gloved palm and only reflex allows me to catch it as I stumble back in surprise and stare at it with wide eyes. Wow, it really did work.

"See, I told you so, Potter," Malfoy drawls and I glance up at him with a wide smile, too happy to be bothered by his smugness.

"What do I do now?" I ask eagerly, keeping a steady grip of the broom in my hand. It's practically vibrating with life as if it can feel my excitement. From the corner of my eye, I see Neville smile behind his hands.

"Straddle it," Malfoy instructs me and I do as told. "Keep a steady grip on the handle, both hands. Oh, you can't just―!"

I'm not sure what I've done wrong but it must be something because Malfoy comes over to straddle the broom behind me, his chest pressing against my back, and the intimacy makes me tense rigidly. If Malfoy notices, he doesn't say anything about it as he reaches around me to reposition my hands in the proper grip. For a fleeting moment, I wished that neither of us had worn gloves so that I could feel his hands on mine, but I resolutely pushed it away.

Where did that thought come from? It was ridiculous. I want to figure out what the weird feeling is, not get all touchy-feely.

"Acceptable," Malfoy deems my grip and lets me go, and I squish my next thought before it can take cognitive form. I do not miss the closeness.

"You can kick off the ground now, but only lightly. I don't want to have to come after you when you get lost in the sky," Malfoy drawls.

Cautious and a bit worried about his warning, I kick off and make sure not to kick too hard. The broom lifts off the ground, the toes of my boots brushing the brown grass and then dangling in the air. I'm no more than a metre and a half over the ground, just decimetres between my toes and the grass, but I'm elated. I'm flying.

Neville claps his hands from where he sits on the stump and I smile brightly at him as Malfoy rolls his eyes.

"Yes, yes, he's _hovering_," he drawls but there's no malice in his eyes. "If you press yourself against the broom you'll get more speed; lean up again to slow down."

"Okay," I and answer with a nod and lean forward.

Unfortunately, I take the broom handle with me, dipping it downwards, and I shoot off towards the ground with a panicked shout. I jerk back from the fast approaching grass and pull the handle with me, upwards, and then I'm shooting off into the sky. The cold wind is biting in my face as the clouded sky comes closer and closer and I stare with wide eyes as I try to remember what Malfoy told me. Lean back to slow down, was it? Right now, I'm not sure that I can; my hands are clutching the handle with an iron grip and I am pressing myself to the broom, fearing that I might fall off and plunge to my death if I let go.

I don't dare look down, don't want to know how high up I am as I slowly, painstakingly, force myself to ease up from the broom. My grip on the handle remains strong but I am no longer pressing myself against it. As I sit, I press the handle down a bit and the broom levels out. Heart in my throat and teeth clenched, I manage to bring the speedy ascend to a stop and end up hovering, completely still, with nothing but the broom between me and certain death.

My heart is hammering wildly in my chest and I can hear blood rushing in my veins. I know I have to get back down, but to do that I'll have to tip the broom forwards and then I won't be able to not look down. I gulp and take a few deep breaths of frigid air before I inch the tip of the broom downwards and lean forwards just the slightest bit. As I slowly, so slowly, inch downwards I try not to look at the ground, try not to think about what will happen should I lose my grip of the handle.

Down there, I can see Neville looking up at me and even from this high up, I can see that he's deadly pale. Malfoy… I stare at him in shock and then sob in relief when I realize that he's coming towards me with a broom of his own, flush against the handle as he speeds towards me.

"Okay, Potter, you're doing great," he tells me when he reaches my side.

He's entirely comfortable on the broom, actually holding it with only one hand as he turns to me, but I can only let out a pathetic sob in answer.

"Don't worry, just keep going as you are now. See? You're doing good. Think you can lean towards me, just the lightest bit?"

I nod jerkily and try, and we turn in a slow circle. Malfoy keeps encouraging me as we circle down towards the ground and the waiting Neville, and I keep my steely grip on the broom and just wish for it to end. When my toes finally touch the ground I throw myself off of the broom and land in a mess in the wet grass, my terrified tears streaming down my cheeks. I'm shaking and I can't stop myself.

Malfoy lands beside me and crouches down, pulling me up against his chest and I cry into his shoulder. I press my face into the side of his neck and cry into the scarf, probably ruining the expensive piece of cloth, but Malfoy doesn't seem to care as he hugs my frozen body close.

"Harry! Harry!" Neville shouts and I shift a bit to look over Malfoy's shoulder.

Neville is galloping towards us, his eyes wide and his face as pale as I through it was. As soon as he reaches us he drops to his knees, the wet grass soaking through his pants, and envelops me in a hug so that I'm sandwiched between them. Malfoy tenses for a moment, and I think he is about to draw back, but then he squeezes me tighter and a gloved hand cups the back of my head as I burrow back into his neck. With solid ground under me and the two of them pressing against me from both sides, I feel safe again and my helpless sobs subside as I calm.

"Oh, Merlin, Harry. I'm so sorry!" Neville says and I turn my head to look at him, still leaning against Malfoy. The deep lines of worry make him look years older. "I can't believe I was so stupid! The other Harry was brilliant on a broom so I didn't even think that― But you're not him, so it doesn't matter, and this is all my fault, and― I am _so, so sorry_, Harry."

"It's okay," I whisper because his apology is heartfelt and s incere and I am too exhausted to be angry. I give him a tearstained smile and mumble: "I'm alive."

Neville gives a shaky smile and squeezes me a bit harder before letting me go. We all get to our feet, wet and sodden from sitting on the ground, and I look sadly at the brooms as I remember how excited I was I the beginning, before it all went wrong.

"I thought it would be fun," I whisper in a small voice.

"Don't worry, Harry," Malfoy says quietly. "It was a beginner's mistake; Longbottom did exactly the same thing when he got onto a broom the first time."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Neville answers with a weak chuckle. "Managed to break my arm, I did. Come on, now; let's get back and get some hot chocolate."

Neville apparates us back and Malfoy comes shortly after with the brooms. We sit down by the kitchen table as Neville makes three big, mismatched mugs with hot chocolate for us, and we drink it in silence. The familiar, homely kitchen is warm and the drink warms me from the inside. I glance up at Malfoy over the rim of my cup; his cheeks are red but his face pale and his usually so perfect hair is in wild disarray.

"Thank you," I mumble into the mug and he turns to look at me.

"Of course… Harry," he answers and it's only now that I realize that he's calling me by my first name. "Just tell me when you want to try again."

"Try again?" I exclaim and shake my head vehemently, but then pause when I remember the exhilarated feeling of hovering when all was still well. Maybe…

"It's great fun when you learn to fly. There's a sense of freedom that is hard to gain anywhere else," Malfoy tells me and with that, he's won me over.

I nod, a very small nod, and mumble: "Okay."


	23. Chapter 22

**XXII. **"If you crush the bean instead of cutting it, it will be easier to extract the juice," Malfoy tells me.

"Really?" I ask curiously and try, and I turn to him with a wide smile when it works.

We're back in the kitchen with the wireless mumbling in the background and a bubbling cauldron on the counter. Malfoy is helping me brew and teaches me little tips and tricks that aren't mentioned in the book along the way. Neville is sitting by the kitchen table with the latest issue of the _Herbology Herald_ leaned against his knee as he reads, one hand absentmindedly petting the crooning Mimbulus mimbeltonia.

It's Saturday and our chores are all done, the plants cared for and the house clean. We were supposed to try flying again, which is why Malfoy is here in the first place, but the heavy rain that is still thundering against the window put an end to that. I'm secretly relieved that our plans had to be postponed; I'm not too eager to get back onto a broom after the last catastrophe, no matter how many times Malfoy tells me how wonderful flying is. Why Malfoy is still here, I do not know, but I'm glad all the same.

"Maybe we could start with the basics of apparition instead…" Malfoy mumbles and gazes at the water pouring down the window as he leans against the counter with is arm crossed.

Both Neville and I look at him in surprise, and he manages to make a shrug look rather dignified.

"Since the rain is forcing us to stay inside, I mean," he explains.

I shrug but Neville frowns, seemingly not at all approving of the idea.

"I this it'd be best to have a healer around when we try apparition," he says slowly and then look at me. "What if you splinch yourself?"

"What's that?" I ask quietly; the way Neville says it lets me know that it's something serious.

"If you lose your concentration when apparating, you might… leave parts of yourself behind," he answers with a grimace and my eyes widen I frightened shock.

"Like… a leg?" I whisper and he nods.

"It might be a good idea to have a healer close by," Malfoy agrees gravely and I gulp and nod.

Doing magic seems a lot more dangerous than I thought it would be.

"My mother is educated in the discipline of healing," Malfoy continues. "Perhaps she could oversee our training?"

"I'm not so sure…" Neville mumbles uncertainly.

"Mother wouldn't spread Harry's location," Malfoy answers, his voice hard and his gaze darkening at the insinuation.

"Of course not," Neville answers immediately and I watched quietly, my gaze going back and forth between them. "But the more people that know… Harry, what do you think?"

They both turn to me, waiting for my answer, and it warms me that they let me decide because I know that Ron and Hermione never would. Neville and Malfoy, however, trust me and my ability to choose for myself.

"I… would like to have a healer there," I answer slowly as I think through what it is I want while stirring the potion. Apparition sounds dangerous, and I shudder at the thought of leaving some body part behind, but I'm curious and do want to learn more magic. "If we did it here… if your mother could come here… would it be okay?"

"It would minimalize the risk of anyone else finding out about you," Neville says thoughtfully and Malfoy nods.

"I'll have to talk with mother, of course, but I'm sure she'll―"

He falls silent when the fire in the living room flares to life and the three of us look at each other in surprise.

"Are we expecting anyone?" I ask and Neville shakes his head and gets up to throw his magazine on the table and go into the living room.

"Hi, Neville!" Hermione's cheerful voice sounds loudly and I groan.

From the corner of my eye, I see Malfoy raise a brow questioningly at me and I remember that Ron and Hermione were the other Harry's best friends. I just shook my head at his unvoiced question and focus on the potion, checking with the book to make sure that I'd gotten the consistency right.

"Hermione…" Neville answers haltingly and I can hear that he doesn't know what to do.

Hermione takes the decision off his hands by shouting for Harry and striding through the doorway into the kitchen. As soon as she catches sight of them, she freezes, her eyes wide with surprise and disbelief as she stares at them, Harry standing over the simmering cauldron and Malfoy beside him with his arms crossed and leaning back against the counter. Their casual closeness is obvious.

"Hey, mate!" sounds Ron's voice from the living room and the next minute he appears behind Hermione. "'Mione, what's― What is _he_ doing here?!"

"I was _invited_," Malfoy answers snidely, taking a stab at them for showing up without warning.

"It's a Hogsmeade weekend, we thought we'd come by on a surprise visit…" Hermione answers with a look of confusion as if she cannot understand the situation at all.

"_We_ don't need to defend ourselves against a _Death Eater_," Ron tells her angrily. "We're Neville and Harry's _friends_."

"Are you really?" Malfoy asks quietly and I think there is more truth in his words than Ron and Hermione realize.

"Ron, Hermione," Neville tries carefully. "Can't we all just…"

"What's he doing here, Neville?" Hermione asks before he can finish and the calm in her voice is strained.

"Yeah, why did you let him in?" Ron demands far less calmly, his face darkening with anger. "You know you can't trust him!"

I squeeze my eyes shut and wish that the two of them would just shut up and leave. They weren't even invited, and now they have the nerve to demand to know why Malfoy is here? It all rubs me the wrong way, and had I been a cat, my fur would be standing on end and I would be hissing and spitting.

"He's here because I _want him to be here_!" I snap harshly and turn from the potion to glare at them, and they snap around to stare at me in shock. Nastily, I think they're probably surprised to hear the _dog_ speak.

"What are you talking about, mate? You hate each other!" Ron exclaims and I glare darkly at him.

"Didn't you hear, Weasley?" Malfoy cuts in coolly and looks down his nose at the angry redhead. "Harry wants me to be here."

"_No he doesn't_!" Ron hisses furiously, his face darkening into deeper shades of red as he clenches his fists.

"Harry?" Hermione asks and I look up at her because she is still speaking calmly and that earns her some points, if only a few. "Why are you with… with Malfoy?"

Why am I with Malfoy? The question is a simple one, yet the answers are so many; I want to figure out what my strange feeling is; I feel at ease in his company; he's helping me with my magic and teaching me how to fly. But I don't say all that; I give her the simplest and most immediate answer.

"He's helping me brew potions," I say with forced calm and the confusion in her gaze only increases.

"You've never liked potions, Harry," she says softly and immediately loses all the extra pointes she earned.

"You hate potions, mate!" Ron butts in and I glare angrily and grit my teeth.

"You know what?" I growl through clench teeth. "_I_ don't hate potions. _I_ don't hate Malfoy and _I'm_ not your friend!"

"Of course you―!"

"You just don't get it, do you?!" I shout at him and their eyes widen. Good, that might mean they're finally listening. "I'm not him! I'm not Harry bloody Potter! I'm just Harry and _you don't know me_!"

With that, I walk out of the kitchen with long, angry strides because I can't stand being in the same room as them anymore. I follow the brick path with my fists clenched by my sides and my dark glare directed to the tiles. I am so, _so_ angry it feels as if I'm going to burst because I have no outlet.

"Harry?"

"WHAT?" I holler furiously and turn around to find that Malfoy has followed me, but at the moment I don't care who it is as long as I get to relieve this anger that's burning inside. "Are you going to tell me who I am, too?! Are you going to tell me what I can and can't do, just like them?! You have no right – _they_ have no right! Why can't they just _get it_?! I'm not him, I don't want to be him and I will never be _him_! So just _fuck off_ and _leave me alone_!"

Instead of leaving, Malfoy approaches me slowly and doesn't waver when I hit him in the chest and scream wordlessly. His arms close around me and he holds me still while I rage at the world. I scream until I'm hoarse and have repeated it all over and over, until I've burnt off the anger and nothing remains. I feel numb, hollow and am suddenly exhausted. I note, vaguely, that my cheeks are wet – I must be crying. I squeeze my eyes shut against the tears and lean into him and he holds me close as I simply breathe deeply and try to calm down.

Now that the rage has dissipated, I regret my harsh behaviour and embarrassment floods me. How immature, to scream and rage like that, especially at Malfoy who's done nothing wrong. And what made me think that shouting would make Ron and Hermione listen when nothing has worked before this? I feel stupid and tired and empty, like a real mess, all teary and snotty, and I just wish that I could curl up in my bed and let the world disappear.

"I'm sorry," I croak into Malfoy's shoulder and try to free myself from his arms, but he only hugs me closer.

"Don't be," he answers softly. "While undignified, you needed that. And no, I won't"

"What?" I ask in incomprehension.

"I won't try to tell you who you are supposed to be, because I don't want you to change. I don't want you to be the old Harry Potter."

His words startle me and when I draw back this time, he lets me. I stare at him with open mouth, his grey eyes completely sincere.

"You don't?"

"No," he answers and shakes his head. "I like you much better."

I smile a stupidly happy smile and lean in again to hide it against his shoulder as warmth courses through me. One of his arms has settled comfortably around my waist and the other hand has found its way into my nest of messy, dark hair. I quite like having it there.

"Thank you," I whisper quietly, but I know he hears it.

**Eh... the confrontation was planned, but I can honestly say that all that drama wasn't... this story does seem to have a tendency to run away with me ^^'**


	24. Chapter 23

**XXIII. **I am sitting in the living room on the worn and old but comfortable couch, nervously fiddling with my robes. Yes, I am wearing proper wizarding robes over my normal jeans and t-shirt, and it feels strange. Now and then I glance up at the empty fireplace as I wait for it to burst into green flames. Out in the kitchen, I hear Neville busying himself with the herbs in the window, and I wish I would have something to distract myself with as well.

I do have valid reasons to be nervous. I am waiting for Malfoy to floo over with his mother, which means that I'll get to know another part of him. Just the fact that I'm going to meet _Malfoy's mother_ is making me nervous for some reason, but I know that that's just stupid. My real reason for being nervous is that she's coming here so that Malfoy and Neville can teach me how to apparate, and that's what I'm truly worried about. This whole thing with splinching seems nasty and considering how my first flying lesson went, I'm unconsciously expecting myself to have splinched before the day is over.

I am just thinking of talking a bit with the Humaflora – I found a book on sign language among Neville's herbology texts and have been learning it along with the plant – when the fire flares in green and very nearly gives me a heart attack. Instead of falling over, dead, I shoot up from the couch and nervously brush my hands over the robes to smooth out the worst of the wrinkles.

The first one to emerge from the green flames is a tall woman of regal looks who must be Malfoy's mother as she possesses the same pale complexion. She seems rather intimidating with her head held high and sharp, blue eyes scrutinizing me, but then her face softens with a smile.

"Harry," she greets me with a warmth that surprises me. "Draco has told me about you."

"Oh," I mumble, unsure of what to say. "I hope he's said good things?"

"Only good things," she assures me and then looks up over my shoulder. "And Mr Longbottom! Thank you for your services; my garden is now more lush than ever before."

"My pleasure, Lady Malfoy," Neville answers and comes up beside me.

In the next moment, Malfoy appears in the flames and he takes place behind his mother with a supportive hand on her arm, even though I think she looks more than capable of taking care of herself.

"Mother, Harry Potter," he introduces us and gestures towards me. "Harry, this is my mother, Narcissa Malfoy."

There is further exchange of pleasantries, mostly between Narcissa and Neville, and it mostly serves to confuse me. I do get the sense that it follows some kind of protocol, however, so I stay in the background and listen as they talk about seemingly nothing.

"Well then," Narcissa suddenly calls for our attention. "Let us begin, shall we?"

We move into the Greenhouse where Neville draws a circle onto the brick in one of the more open areas and together, they explain the process of apparition; destination and deliberation and the little turn on the spot.

"Don't worry, we don't expect you to succeed on the first try or anything. Some people never learn to apparate," Neville tells me with a reassuring smile which I answer hesitantly.

"Good luck, Mr Potter," Narcissa adds and sits down on the garden chair I use when drinking tea with the Humaflora. Seemingly from nowhere, she draws a book and flips a few pages to read; she obviously doesn't expect anything to happen for quite some time.

That calms my nerves, somewhat, because she doesn't seem to believe that I'll splinch myself anytime soon and that's what worries me the most. The mere thought of leaving a physical part of myself behind is horrifying. Even so, I stare into the ring which I'm supposed to appear in, and I try.


	25. Chapter 24

**XXIV. **There is the wind in my hair, tugging at the messy strands as it whistles in my ears and I have to squint when my eyes tear up. Normally, I would find it irritating, but I cannot bring myself to mind as the ground rushes past far below and blue sky and white clouds stretch far ahead above. I feel weightless, as if I could let go and reach my arms out and _fly_, soar through the sky with the birds. The weight of reality, of problems and annoyances, are all left behind down on the ground where I left it.

It is freedom. Utter and blissful freedom.

With eyes shining with excitement and a huge grin on my face I shriek with delight, the sound is caught by the wind and carried away, and then Draco makes a dive and my cry gains a higher pitch as I cling tighter to the blonde with my heart in my throat.

I am sitting behind him on his broom, a polished and well maintained Firebolt, with my arms around his waist and my chin on his shoulder as we cut through the air. It is amazing, it is wonderful and it is _the best_! It makes me feel like I am a little kid and is everything I'd hoped it would be when I first got onto the broom, before it all went downhill… and then up into the clouds.

"Hold on!" Draco calls to me as if I wasn't already squeezing the life out of him, and then he brings the broom up sharply in a loop and I shriek when ground and sky change place. Then we're spiralling up into the sky and my shriek turns to laughter and I squeeze Draco around the middle, pressing myself against his back.

I smile

This is the best.

I am convinced that flying is truly as wonderful as Draco has told me. Soon, I'll try again on my own.


	26. Chapter 25

**Several people have pointed out the fact that my chapters are short, which I am very much aware of, and I therefore thought it prudent to explain this fact. Lately, I have had a hard time getting anything onto paper because the demand of 5000 word/chapter seemed too daunting. Therefore, I thought it better to write and update short chapters, but do it more often – ****_which is why you're getting a chapter almost every day instead of once every month! _****Another reason is the fact that this story is about a person who has lost his memories and therefore lives very much in the now, which is why I try to write moment for moment instead of covering great spans of time within one chapter. With this in mind, I hope you understand the reason for the shortness of the chapters and can continue enjoying the story, because this is the format it will be in. **

**On a side note, I can also mention that questions such as ****_Will Harry and Draco fall in love_**** and ****_Will they remain friends_**** and such won't be answered, so take a peek at the pairing for this story (the square brackets do have a meaning) and please do continue reading if you want to know. **

**XXVI. **I yawn and turn over onto the side, nuzzling the soft pillow with my cheek and pull the blankets tighter around me, creating a cocoon or soft warmth. The first snow came to other day and my bedroom in a bit cooler than usual, but I'm comfortable in bed and the cold can't get to me thought the layers of blankets. I blink green eyes open, dazed with sleep, and take in the grey light that filters through the leaves of the plant in the window. Since moving in with Neville all those months ago, I've grown used to getting up early to start the day and care for the plants, but this faint light tells me that it is earlier than usual.

Concluding that I can enjoy my bed some more, I smile and let me eyes slip closed, intending to go back to sleep in my little heaven of pillows and blankets. Just as I start to drift off, I hear it, the sharp click of a beak against glass, and I groan. Pouting like a petulant child, I get up and wrap all my blankets around me, shivering when my bare feet meet the cold floor. I brush a plant aside – they've grown a lot since I moved in and seem to thrive in my bedroom and I don't mind because there is a certain comfort in sleeping when surrounded by plants – and the door squeaks quietly when I push it open.

The living room is quiet and empty, a mug left on the side table from yesterday evening and the fire rendered to but glowing coals. I throw a few logs onto it and take the mug with me as I pass by. The kitchen is just as quiet, lit only by the pale morning light, and there is an almost eerie peacefulness resting over it. I deposit the mug in the sink and then go over to the window where a brown barn owl is glaring at me impatiently; as soon as I've opened the window, it flies in and drops an envelope onto the table before settling on the back of a chair, its beak held high and its feathers ruffled. I just shake my head at it, too tired to care as I pick up the envelope and read my name written over the front in a neat hand.

"You'll have to wait for breakfast if you want bacon," I tell the owl and yawn as I open the envelope and pull out the letter within.

Reading it, sleepiness leaves me to complete wakefulness.

_Dear Harry,_

_I am sorry. I know you have no reason to forgive me considering the way we have treated you, but I still want you to know – I am sorry. After out last encounter, I realized (much too late, I know) that we have treated you horribly. The way we acted, as if you were an infant incapable of caring for yourself and making your own decisions, was completely unjustified. Now that I have spoken with Neville and know how you have helped him in the Greenhouse, I realize how wrong I was in believing that your lack of memories made you any less of a person. If you would only give me a chance, I would like to meet, to talk, and to apologize in person. _

_Hopefully, I will be able to understand. _

_Hermione G. _

"Harry?"

I look up to find Neville in the doorway, wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe and with messy bed hair.

"I heard you get up," he says and glances towards the letter in my hands. There must be something in my expression telling him that something isn't as it should be, because he asks: "Something wrong?"

Wordlessly, I show him the letter and he steps forward to squint at it – he only needs to see the neat handwriting to know who it's from, but skims through it all the same. Once finished, he sinks into a chair and looks at me, and once more, I am struck with gratitude to my friend who is willing to sit up with me in the kitchen, far too early in the morning, to help me with a problem that really isn't his.

"What do you want to do?" Neville asks quietly.

I shrug and give him a helpless look.

"I don't know," I answer weakly, and I really don't.

On one hand, I can see that Hermione deserves a chance to speak with me and it would be great if she could understand, but on the other hand, I really don't fell like meeting her again and the petty, childish part of me doesn't feel like being forgiving at all.

"I… think you should give her a chance," Neville says slowly and I frown at him. "I know Hermione, and I know that she means what she's written. She really is sorry."

"Yeah…" I mumble, unconvinced.

"She's usually really smart, Hermione," Neville continues softly. "Probably the smartest person I know. She should be able to understand."

"Why now when she didn't before?" I ask challengingly, because I am reluctant to agree even though I already know that I probably will.

"Because now she's admitted that she was wrong."

I sigh tiredly. He makes it all sound so simple, and really, what's the harm?

"Once chance," I say. "That's all she's getting. Once word about you or Draco or me and that's it."

"Of course," Neville agrees and nods. "You don't have to see her if you don't want to, you know."

"I know," I sigh and nod as I get up to search for some ink and parchment.


	27. Chapter 26

**Thank you for all the supportive reviews I got after my little rant last chapter! It's good to know that you're all sticking with me and that you enjoy tPtP – love you all! **

**XXVII. **"Why did she invite me for tea again?" I ask Neville nervously.

I am standing in front of the mirror in my room, the plant moved aside for the moment so that I can actually see my reflection, and I barely recognize myself. Harry in smart dressrobes is a far cry from Harry in worn jeans and t-shirt with dirt on them.

"She said she wants to get to know you, didn't she?" Neville mumble as he straightens the wrinkles on my robes. Apparently, there are charms for these kinds of things but Neville doesn't know them and even if I did, I couldn't perform them, so we're left with the old way of doing it.

"Yes, but _why_? That's what I don't get," I answer with a frown and comb my fingers through my hair in an attempt to flatten it.

"Well, you do spend a lot of time with her son and she's only really met you a few times, so I suppose that's why. Motherly protectiveness or something," Neville guesses and I aim a sceptical look at him through the mirror.

"That doesn't make me feel any better," I mutter with the picture of a fire breathing she-dragon fiercely guarding her eggs.

Neville snorts as if he knows what I'm thinking, which he very well might do since we've gotten to know each other so well, and then claps me on the shoulder and smile at me through the mirror.

"You're going to do fine," he tells me reassuringly. "Just, you know… be polite. They're an old family with lots of formalities and such, but… Just don't worry, okay?" he finishes with a laugh when he sees that I just grow more and more worried and I give him a mock glare.

"If I don't return…" I say dramatically and Neville snorts.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll come save you," he promises. "But you'd better get going now or you'll be late and that'll not be appreciated."

"Okay, well, wish me luck," I mumble and take a handful of floo powder from the cup on the mantelpiece. I'm going to take the floo because so far, my lessons in apparition have given little but boredom as I've yet to manage an apparition. Then again, that also means that I've yet to splinch myself, so I'm pretty content about it all.

"Good luck and have a good time," Neville answers cheerfully as I throw the powder into the flames that turn eerily green.

"See you later," I answer with a smile as I step into the tickling flames and in a clear voice say: "Malfoy Manor!"

Spinning through the floo at dizzying speed, I squeezed my eyes shut against the ash and when there is suddenly solid ground under my feet, I stumble forward and blink in surprise. A hand grabs my shoulder and steadies me as I regain my balance and then sneeze against the soot that's gotten into my nose. Flooing really is unpleasant; if it wasn't so quick, I'd much rather have flown.

"You okay, Harry?" Draco asks from beside me and I scowl at the merriment in his voice.

"I'll live," I answer and straighten, brushing off the soot from my robes as I take a look around.

It's just me and Draco in a luxurious room that proves everything Neville's told me about the Malfoys being an old family with a great wealth as it is lavishly but tastefully decorated with marble, gold and fine textiles. My dressrobes seem cheap in comparison and even though I'm deeply impressed I find that I prefer the more simple life at the Greenhouse with its cluttered homeliness.

"Mother is waiting in the parlour," Draco tells me and gestures for me to follow him.

"The _parlour_?" I echo disbelievingly as my head swings from side to side, wide eyes trying to take it all in. Up head, I hear Draco chuckle lightly but he says nothing.

The room he leads me to turns out to be just as luxurious as the others with high, arched windows framed with flowing fabric in royal blue, the sharp sunlight of the cold afternoon streaming in and creating patterns on the floor. A fire crackled on the hearth and spread its warmth to the armchairs placed by it. Narcissa rises from one of the armchairs when we enter and she looks as regal as ever with her straight back and elegantly cut robes, but there is a smile playing over her lips as she greets me.

"Welcome to Malfoy Manor, Mr Potter. I hope you had a safe trip?"

"Thank you. I, eh… haven't really gotten used to floo travel yet," I admit sheepishly and she laughs softly.

"No, it does take some getting used to, doesn't it?" she agrees and gestures to the armchair. "Please, do have a seat."

We all sit down around the fire and I sink into my armchair, the comforter hugging me comfortably. With a pop, a house elf appears with a big tray of tea and biscuits and I watch in quiet fascination as we are served by the little creature. She is so different from the one that lurked in the shadows at Grimmauld Place and she almost bursts with gratitude when I smile and thank her for the tea.

"Some things never change," Draco mumbles amusedly into his tea.

"What?" I ask in surprise but he just shakes his head and smiles.

"Mr Potter," Narcissa says and I turn to her. "How do you like living with Mr Longbottom?"

"Oh, I love it! It's absolutely fantastic; I get to help out in the Greenhouse with all the plants, and I've learnt so much about herbology since moving in with him," I tell her happily.

"Then we are in much the same situation," Narcissa tells me softly. "I, too, realized the joy of caring for plants only recently."

Before long, we are sharing an animated discussion about plants and their part in different potions. We talk about my attempts to teach the Humaflora sign language and the use of Vampireflowers; we discuss the plants' need for human contact and the Manor garden that Narcissa is caring for along with the beauty of seeing green light burst through dark soil. It is not at all as tense and awkward as I feared this meeting would be, and before I know it, I am relaxed and enjoying myself as I drink my tea.

Still, as I sit here with Draco and Narcissa, I am nagged with a question; where is Draco's father? I am curious but knowing that it hasn't been all that easy for them after the war, I don't dare ask. What if he was killed in the war and they are in mourning? I don't want to drag it up now, like this. I'll have to ask Draco later.

"Tell me, Mr Potter," Narcissa says once we're out of biscuits. "Would you like to see the garden?"

I look up at her, surprised. "The Manor garden? Your garden?" I ask and she nods with a slight smile. "If you'd show me, then yes. I'd love to."

"Right this way, then," Narcissa gestures and it is revealed that one of the tall windows is, in fact, a door that opens directly out into the fading light of the garden.

"Have fun," Draco calls after us and I look back at him with raised brows. Isn't he going to come along?

"Draco, I'm afraid, is much more interested in plants when they're chopped up and ready to be put in a potion," Narcissa tells me with a slight smile. "He does not see the beauty in their life like we do."

"Oh," I answer and follow her out into the cold.

In spite of the thin layer of sparkling, white snow that covers the ground, the garden is beautiful and I can only imagine its splendour during summer. Now, there are evergreens and hedges creating designs and patterns as they rise through the snow, and as we walk along a cleared path towards a frozen fountain in the middle, Narcissa shows me where other plants are resting for the winter. She points out an area where she is thinking of erecting a conservatory next summer and tells me of her plans for the garden, and I contribute with little snippets of inspiration and insight that I've gotten from Neville and think might be helpful. She seems so animated like this, Narcissa, gesturing with her hands as she speaks with a smile. Gardening is doing her good.

On our way back, we pause by the fountain and Narcissa turns to look at me, her gaze intense and scrutinizing. Suddenly, I am all nervous again.

"I understand that you have lost a lot, Mr Potter," she says quietly as the snow shifts around us with the wind. "But do not consider your lack of memories of the war a _loss_."

"No?" I ask quietly, afraid to say something wrong.

"No. I wish, sometimes, that I could forget…"

Her gaze grows distant as she gazes past my shoulder, remembering things she wishes to forget. For a moment, we simply stand there in silence, and I wonder if she is thinking of her husband. When she turns back to me, her gaze has regained its sharpness.

"Much has changed since the war, Mr Potter. We have, too, even though few seem willing to believe so. Still, I must admit I did not believe in your… friendship… with my son when I first heard of it."

Her words make me freeze and I stare at her. Doesn't she approve? Doesn't she want us to be friends?

"Do not look so scared, Mr Potter," she says with humour. "I can see now that you are good for each other. It has been difficult for us after the war; my son… Draco took to potions to be able to cope, like I did to gardening, and I dare say it worked, but it is only after you became friends that his smile has returned."

I blink in surprise and then, when her words register, I smile as warmth spread through me.

"Thank you," I croak, surprised by the emotions that clog up my throat, and before I can stop myself, I step forwards and envelop her in a hug.

She gives a surprised "Oh!" but then laughs lightly and pats me on the shoulder, and I draw back with a sheepish smile.

"Sorry," I mumble and blush, but she just laughs again.

"No harm done, Mr Potter," she assures me warmly.

**A question for English native speakers and those who are simply better at English than I am – do you say tall of high windows? The same for doors; is it all tall, narrow door or a high, narrow door? And trees, are they tall or high? :)**


	28. Chapter 27

**So, a little compilation of the answers I received for my little question about tall/high – as far as I've understood it, windows, doors and trees can all be tall (and here I imagined it had something to do with living vs. dead things) if it refers to their shape, while high would refer to their location, such as a window placed high on the wall and so on. ****But**** high can also be used, depending on who you formulate it… **

**Thank you for the many answers! I realized I should have asked this sooner – I've been wondering for a long time ^^'**

**XXIIX. **"So what did mother interrogate you about?"

"What?"

We're walking thought the halls of the Manor again, on our way back to the floo. Draco is with me, showing the way, because I have no hope of getting there myself. I'll readily admit that I'm already lost.

"When mother took you out into the garden? I do suppose she wanted to talk about something with you?" Draco asks and looks back at me over his shoulder with a crooked smile.

"Oh… Well, yeah. We talked about the plants and that she wants to build a conservatory," I tell him slowly, suddenly feeling awkward. I can't tell him about his mother's blessing, can I? It feels oddly like a secret…

"She didn't try to scare you away, did she?" Draco says with a frown and I blink at him in surprise.

"No, why would she?" I ask, bewildered, and Draco's shoulders sag in relief.

"She can be a bit protective at times," he answers sheepishly.

I smile, still feeling awkward, and grasp for something to say to lead us onto some other subject. My question from when we had tea resurfaces and I ask before I can change my mind.

"I was wondering… about your father?" I ask slowly as we pass by a big portrait with a long since deceased Malfoy and the painted eyes follow us.

"What about him?" Draco asks nonchalantly but his shoulders are tense again and he sounds almost too indifferent about it.

"I was just wondering, you know… where he is. I've met your mother and… But I've never seen him, I don't even think you've mentioned him," I say carefully and hope I haven't broached a sensitive subject or crossed some invisible line.

Draco is silent as we continue and when I walk up beside him to see his face, I find his gaze distant. When we reach the room with the floo connection and Draco still hasn't said anything, I am sure I won't get an answer.

"My father… isn't with us anymore," Draco tells me quietly and stares into the dancing flames, and I pale.

"I'm sorry for your loss," I say quickly, and he looks up at me with… confusion?

"Oh, no. He's not dead," he corrects me and shakes his head before looking into the flames again. Quietly, I sidle up to him to stand beside him, the fire warming us. "He's in Azkaban, the prison."

"Why?" I ask, too baffled to realize that it might be an insensitive question before it's already jumped out of my mouth.

Draco hesitates and glances towards me, then sighs heavily. "He fought for the Dark Lord, on the wrong side of the war," he says quietly and I pale at the implications. "He fought against you," he adds and turns to look me in the eye, and I don't know what to say. Of course, I don't remember any of it – as far as I know I've never met the man, but I understand that it's of great importance and suddenly I understand why Draco and his mother have had such a hard time since the war.

"Why?" I ask again, quietly, because there is nothing else to say, and Draco seems to deflate.

"We're an old family of purebloods, Harry. The Dark Lord… he promised to uphold the pureblood supremacy and preserve our culture and values," he paused and looked at me, and even though I have never heard of purebloods before, I somewhat understand and I know better than to ask right now. "You must understand, Harry – the Dark Lord wasn't mad in the beginning. He was sane, he was intelligent and cunning and charming, and he promised everyone who followed him great rewards. It was all so different in the beginning, and then, when we realized the truth… it was already too late."

Draco's voice hasbecome a whisper as he stared into the flames with a faraway expression, his eyes wide and his face pale, and I feel bad for bringing it up at all. Clearly, this is not something he wishes to remember.

"I'm sorry," I mumble quietly and hesitantly reach to put a hand on his arm.

He turns to look at me with surprise as if he doesn't expect me to be there still, and then frowns.

"Don't you want to leave?" he asks and I wonder if it is he who wants me to leave, but I shake my head all the same.

"Not really, no," I answer honestly.

"But… I just told you that my father fought for the man who tried to kill you. Father tried to kill you!" he exclaims.

"Well, he's not here, is he?" I answer. "He's in… Azkaban."

"Yes, but…" Draco answers and he looks strangely lost.

I don't know what it is that bothers him so, don't understand why he's so upset, but I try for a slight smile and say: "You don't want to kill me, do you?"

"Merlin, no! Of course not!" Draco exclaims and turns to me fully, and my smile widens.

"Well, then," I say as if that settles the matter, and for me, it does.

Draco sighs and it sounds both tired and relieved, and then he combs his fingers through his hair and lets his eyes slip shut. He looks troubled and I wait even though I don't know what I'm waiting for. A few minutes later, it comes.

"You're so different," Draco mumbles. "I forget that you're not the same, sometimes. I guess I through… knowing about our past… I thought you'd hate me."

"But that's not my past," I answer. "That was the other Harry. I don't remember any of that, so I don't care. You're the one who remembers it, so the question should be why you want to be friends with me."

That seems to startle his and he opens his eyes to stare at me. Then he shakes his head and gives a quiet laugh before giving me a weak smile.

"I wanted to be your friend," he remembers. "But you turned me down."

"I'm sorry," I answer even though it wasn't me but the old Harry who did that, but Draco shakes his head.

"No, I guess it was my fault. In hindsight, I realize I was a horrible little prick back then – I wouldn't want to be friends with my eleven-year-old self. I guess I've changed…" He trails off and smiles at me and I smile back. Of course, I can't say for sure that he has changed since I don't know his old self, but I'm convinced that he has all the same. "I guess that now, with the past truly behind us… I wanted a second chance," he says.

"Congratulations," I say teasingly. "You've gained my friendship."

He laughs and then surprises us both by pulling me into a hug, but I am quick to return it. To my surprise, it feels better than any other hug I've had so far and I lean happily into Draco's embrace, his arms closing around me. For all I care, the past can stay in the past, forgotten.


	29. Chapter 28

**Dear guest, Michael,  
you should know I normally don't answer reviews written by guests. This time, however, I felt that I had to, yet I do not know what to say. ****_Thank you_**** doesn't seem to cut it, and if I could, I would like to give you a big hug and never let go.  
So THANK YOU for being wonderful *hearts* **

**XXIX. **We are in the greenhouse, sitting on garden chairs. There is no tea and no biscuits and there is no pleasant conversation about gardening. Instead, we sit in tense silence as I stare at Hermione and she stares at her hands, clutched in her lap. The Vampireflower is standing right behind her, leaning slightly over her shoulder, and a small, vindictive part of me is enjoying it even though she has no idea of how dangerous the plant is.

"Thank you… for giving me a chance," Hermione says after a moment when she has gathered her courage and looks up at me. I give her a short nod but say nothing; I have nothing to say to her and am only here to let her say what it is she wishes to say.

When she realizes I'm not going to say anything, she takes a deep breath and continues.

"I know… that what we did… was wrong," she tells me reluctantly. "We only meant to help, but I understand now that we made things worse. It's just… It _hurts_, Harry. We were your best friends, we struggled through so much together, fought a war side by side, and it _hurts_ when you say that you do not want to remember us."

She falls silent and looks away, biting her lower lip to keep the tears at bay. I still don't say anything, because I still feel that there is nothing for me to say, but my hard ball of anger thaws a bit. I look at her more closely for the first time and notice the dark shadows under her eyes and the tired slump of her shoulders.

"We just wanted to have our old friend back," she whispers and her voice breaks. After a few deep breaths to gather herself, she goes on: "We were so set on getting the old Harry back that we only saw the differences. We didn't see that, really, even without the memories, you're so much alike."

I frown and am just about to protest when she explains.

"No, really – I mean it, Harry. You've always been stubborn, and you've always been protective of your friends. And, perhaps most importantly, you've always wanted to be seen for who you are, _just Harry_ and nothing and no one else, and I am so incredibly sorry that we couldn't do that for you," she gives me a weak smile that I don't return, and so she sighs heavily. "I realize that this might be too much to ask, because I really have no right to ask any more of you, but… _please_… I just want a chance to get to know you again. To meet, to talk, to… I don't know… do things. I want to get to know you, again, and… if at all possible… become friends again."

I stare at her quietly, turning her words over in my head as she looks back at me, her gaze pleading. She seems truly sincere and genuine, but still…

"Why do you hate Draco so much?" I ask her and my voice is strangely calm, concealing my inner confusion and indecision. This is important to me.

She blinks at me, surprised, but answers quickly all the same, probably glad that I am speaking to her at all. "We didn't get along in school," she answers slowly. "You and Draco were rivals, and we were sorted into different houses – Draco was a Slytherin and we were Gryffindors, and there has always been a certain enmity between Slytherins and Gryffindors because we… they… have different values. He also disliked me because, well, I am a muggleborn, and purebloods have certain… negative views of us."

I get the impression that she is choosing her words very carefully, but it doesn't really matter. In my head, I am comparing what she has told me to what Draco told me the other day, about the pureblood supremacy and school rivalry. I realize that there are a lot of things I don't know, a lot of holes to be filled out, but their stories match.

"He's changed," I tell her quietly, my tone grave.

She hesitates, but then she nods slowly in acceptance. "I guess I haven't really spoken with him since the end of the war, so I suppose I wouldn't know," she admits. "Is he… a good friend?"

I am about to say that he has been a better friend to me than she, but stop myself. That would be too mean, so instead, I nod. "He's helping me brew potions," I tell her calmly. "And we flew together before the snow came."

"Really?" she asks with a smile. "I guess potions must be different without… But did you like flying?"

I wonder in passing what she was about to say, but don't ask. "Yes, I really enjoyed it when I flew with Draco. Flying on my own was a bit scary, though."

She smiles but then freezes and her eyes widen. "You flew on your own…? But that must mean… And the potions… You have magic, Harry!" she exclaims and I give her a deeply unimpressed look.

"Yes, Draco figured that out more than a month ago," I tell her and her eyes widen.

"He did?" she gasps and this does not seem to sit well with her. "Of course, he is more well-versed in potions than I am… It's all about externalization of magic, isn't it?" she asks sharply and I nod.

She rises from the chair in a flurry of motion and I can practically see the thoughts whirl through her head as she sets off through the Greenhouse. I get up and follow, bewildered and vaguely amused but somewhat disturbed by her behaviour as well.

"I have to go to the library, see what they have about external and internal magic, maybe I can ask Headmistress McGonagall for a pass for the Restricted Section…" she babbles as we come into the kitchen, but then she stops suddenly and whirls around to face me. "If it's okay, of course?"

I realize that she's asking my permission instead of simply doing as she wishes as she did before, but it's obviously that she badly wants to do this as her whole body is vibrating with eager excitement.

I nod and she shines up in a big smile and throws her arms around me in a quick hug. Then, before I know it, she is out in the living room and the flames burst alive and wisp her away. Left behind in the kitchen, I cock my head to the side and frown thoughtfully, because I am not really sure what conclusion we reached.

"How did it go?" Neville asks curiously and pops into the kitchen, trowel in hand.

"Good… I think…"


	30. Chapter 39

**XXIX. **Usually, there's just me and Neville sitting at the round table in the kitchen, but it's big enough to comfortably house four. With six people at the table it's crowded, but if there's a will there's a way, as they say, and we've managed.

"Potatoes, anyone?" I ask and make my way around the table to serve potatoes to everyone, because there is no space left for the food so it'll have to be left on the kitchen counter. Only the Mimbulus mimbeltonia is left in the middle of the table along with drinks and a basket of bread.

"This looks great, Harry," Hermione says warmly and gives me a smile before she turns to Ron with a scowl. "Ronald Bilius Weasley, you do not start eating before everyone's been served and is seated!"

"Sorry," Ron mumbles from beside her and Draco gives him a cold look from across the table.

"The Wrackspurts must have made your brain fuzzy," Luna supplies airily and I give her an amused smiled as I pile potatoes onto her plate.

We're a mismatched group of people and both Neville and I suspect that the dinner is doomed to end in catastrophe before it's even started, but we've decided to give it a chance anyway. It was Hermione's idea that we all meet and spend together to learn to get to know each other and get along, and so, here we are. I know Hermione has had a little talk with Ron about behaving because he's been sending Draco dark and mistrustful looks, but so far, he hasn't actually said anything.

"Everyone's got everything?" I ask and put the potatoes on the counter with a lid over to keep them warm, and I'm answered with a chorus of _yes_. With a satisfied nod I take my seat between Draco and Neville and we all start eating; Ron practically shovels food into his mouth as if he hasn't eaten in a week while the rest of us talk about unimportant things. The wireless is playing softly in the background and it is warm in our little kitchen even though the cold winter reigns over the world outside.

It's nice, and I feel Neville relax beside me when it seems as if disaster can be avoided in spite of our premonitions.

"What are you all doing for Christmas?" Hermione asks lightly after a while. "It's not far off now."

"I'm going to Sweden with father to look for a Blibbering Humdinger," Luna answers softly and we all turn to look at her with varying degrees of amusement and disbelief.

I turn to look questioningly at Neville, who shrugs in answer.

"I haven't really thought about it," he says out loud to answer my silent question. "I usually spend Christmas with Grandmother; I'm sure she wouldn't mind having the both of us over."

I nod slowly but don't say anything and turn to Draco on my other side, but he says nothing and with sudden realization, I understand that it can't be too fun to celebrate Christmas in the big, silent Mansion with only his mother and the absence of his father. Maybe I can talk to Neville about inviting Draco and his mother? We could all celebrate together.

Across the table, Ron says something but his words are so distorted by potatoes that they're entirely unintelligible and Draco gives him a disgusted look as Hermione swats the back of his head.

"Don't talk with food in your mouth!" she chastises him sharply before turning back to me. "So, what do you want for Christmas? Anything special?"

I blink in surprise, taken aback by her question, but then shrug. "I have no idea," I answer honestly, because it feels like I have everything I want. Still, there's something that makes me glance to the side towards Draco.

Then it hit's me that I haven't got any money, and I turn to Neville and lean in close to mumble: "I can't buy any presents, Neville – I don't have any money."

He turns to look at me with such surprise that I wonder if I've said something wrong, and then he bursts out: "Hasn't anyone told you?"

The others look at him in surprise and I am just as startled as they are.

"Told him what, Neville?" Hermione asks curiously.

"About his money!"

"Oh… No, I don't think we ever did," she answers with dawning realization.

"What money?" I ask, annoyed by the fact that they all seem to know something that I don't know, and look around at them for an answer.

"The Potter family is just as old and wealthy as the Malfoy family," Draco tells me calmly. "You've got plenty of gold in your Gringotts account."

"Really?" I ask slowly, trying to wrap my mind about the fact that I'm suddenly rich.

"I can take you tomorrow, if you want," Neville promises.

As I nod, I see Ron reach for some bread from the corner of my eye and my eyes widen when I realize what's about to happen even before the redhead accidentally pokes the pulsing plant in the middle. Shouts of shock and disgust fill the kitchen when the Mimbulus mimbeltonia erupts in an explosion of stinksap, coating us as well as the rest of the kitchen in putrid gunk.

"Sorry," Ron croaks and his face is bright red beneath the muck.

**I've wanted to spray stinksap over the kitchen ever since I first mentioned the Mimbulus mimbeltonia :3**

**Okay, people, I need a bit of help again! What would you call a person who mends things? Mender? Fixer? Repairman? Any other suggestions? Personally, I'm leaning towards mender, simply because I think it's got a nice ring to it, but it does not appear to be a proper word… Help? ^^**


	31. Chapter 30

**I'm sorry if there was any confusion about chapters yesterday – it was entirely my fault! I noticed that for the last five chapters, I'd lost one of the Xs in the roman numbers and went back to edit it – unfortunately, it seems I managed to edit away an entire chapter in the process. Sorry! I think I've fixed everything now, and if there's still something wrong with the numbers… then I really don't feel like caring anymore because this developed into a major headache . If I've managed to make another chapter go missing (again) please do tell me and I'll try to fix it ^^'**

**XXX. **Colourful lights glittered everywhere and there hung garlands of holly in deepest green with berries in red, the Alley decorated for the upcoming holiday even though it is still some weeks to come. The crowded street makes it hard for me to pass unnoticed under the invisibility cloak without bumping into anyone, so I walk closely behind Neville with a safe grip on the back of his robes so as not to lose track of him and so that he knows that I am still there.

There is a loud chatter filling the chilled air and seeing as no one could possibly hear me, I lean closer to Neville and quietly say: "I was thinking about Christmas…"

"Mhm?" Neville answers with a mumble, his gaze flickering back towards me even though he ends up looking straight through me.

"What do you say about celebrating with Draco and his mother? And maybe your grandmother, too?" When Neville just raises his brows questioningly, I sigh and explain: "They'll be alone in that big Manor of theirs, and I… I guess I feel bad for them."

"Or you just want an excuse to spend Christmas with Draco?" Neville answers with a smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

I scowl at him but am glad that he can't see me, because for some reason, I feel my face turn warm with a blush. I settle for hitting him on the shoulder and he stumbles with a laugh, attracting a weird look from a witch who just walks by.

"I'll talk with Gran about it, alright?" he promises me. "Now _behave_."

I fall silent when Neville steers to the side to open a door with peeling gold letters on it and a dull bell sounds through the dusty interior as we step into the shop. I look around curiously from underneath the cloak and take in the many hundreds of narrow paper boxes piled behind the counter and then stifle a sound of surprise when an elderly man with dim eyes appears out of the shadows.

"Neville Longbottom," he says with a voice that somehow reminds me of Luna. "I hadn't expected to see you again for quite some time… 13 inches of cherry wood with a core of unicorn hair, yes?"

"Yes, Mr Ollivander," Neville answered respectfully. "But that's not why I'm here today," he says and turns to look for me. "Harry?"

I hesitate for a moment, feeling safe when unseen under the cloak, but then pull it off. Mr Ollivander turns to me immediately and a light sparks to life in his dim gaze.

"Ah, Mr Potter. Now this is a pleasant surprise," he tells me and I smile uncertainly.

"We're wondering if you could take a look at his wand, Mr Ollivander?" Neville explains and I take the wand from my pocket and hand it over to the man.

"Oh? Is it troubling you?" Ollivander asks and inspects the wand, handling it with long fingers. I quietly wonder if he hasn't read the paper, but answer all the same.

"I can't do magic," I tell him and his gaze snaps up to find mine again. "Or, well… I can, but I can't… _externalize _it. Hermione thought it might be because of the wand."

"Mhm, I see. Mmm," Ollivander mumbles and turns his gaze to the wand again, his bony fingers running smoothly over its surface. Then he flickers the wand through the air and a shower of golden sparks burst out of the tip and I watch with a smile of wonder as they dance through the air only to disappear before they hit the floor.

"There is nothing wrong with the wand, Mr Potter," Ollivander tells me and hands it back to me. "Have you, perhaps, tried to perform magic with another wand?"

"Yes."

"And to the same result? Well, then I hardly think the wands are at fault; even if a wand should not agree with you, you should be able to perform magic, if with a weakened result."

Neville sighs in disappointment on my behalf, and I gave him a slight smile of gratitude. Still, it does not bother me much – while I have come to love the magic that is now part of my everyday life, I do not particularly miss it. Much like with the old memories, I have no recollection of being able to perform magic.

"Thank you for the help, Mr Ollivander," Neville says and turns to me. "Come one, Harry. Put the cloak on again. We're off to Gringotts."

The street is just as crowded as before when we go back out to Diagon Alley, and I stick close to Neville as we make our way through the throng of people. The crowd doesn't thin until Neville takes us up the stairs to the looming marble building of Gringotts, and an almost holy silence replace the babble of the masses as the doors close behind us. The interior is awe-inspiring but intimidating with goblin tellers glaring down from their high perches, and I find myself turning from side to side to take it all in as Neville leads the way to one of the shorter queues.

"Good afternoon," Neville greets the goblin when it is our turn but he doesn't seem to expect the creature to answer as he quickly continues. "We'd like to visit Harry Potter's vault."

The goblin glances up for the first time and sneers at him. "We?" it repeats.

I take a quick look around and, when I see that no one is watching, reveal my face to the goblin whose sneer slips of.

"Ah, I see," it voices. "Do you have the key?"

Neville fishes the golden key out of a pocket and gives it to the goblin who inspected its validity before nodding shortly.

I watch in amazement as we are led in behind the high counters by another goblin, and once we're out of sight, the small creature turns to me with lantern in hand.

"If you would uncover yourself, Mr Potter," it says and I do.

With a short nod, it leads us on to a narrow passageway lit by torches with a small cart waiting for us that we climbed into, and the way Neville clings to the edges make me slightly worried as to what is going to happen. Then the cart shoots off down the sloping rails and hurls us through a maze of tunnels. The cart rattles and the wind is whistling in my ears and it feels almost like flying. With a delighted shout I hold on and lean forwards and I laugh loudly when Neville looks at me as if I'm crazy.

The ride is far too short and when we come to a stop, I'm already looking forward to the trip back. Beside me, Neville is shaky and pale and holds on to me to steady himself – he obviously thinks that the ride was more than enough.

The goblin opens the vault while I am busy with Neville, and when I turn around, it's all there before me; a mountain of shining gold and bright silver and freckles of copper. I feel my jaw go slack as I stare in astonishment, completely unprepared for the wealth I am suddenly faced with. I try to take it all in but quickly realize that it's too much for me – I simply cannot grasp how much money this is.

"Well," I say hoarsely. "I've got money for Christmas gifts now."

**I realize, after my question in the previous chapter, that I need to specify a bit. What I need is a title for one person who mends just about every little magical trinket you can imagine, from rememberalls to brooms, from family clocks to talking mirrors – and who puts a patch on a teddy when needed. From all the suggestions I received (of which there were plenty) I still think mender sounds the best even though handyman was an interesting suggestion and repairman seems to be the most correct one :)**


	32. Chapter 31

**XXXI. **I sit back with a smile and stroke the sweat from my brow with the back of a dirty hand, no doubt getting dark soil onto my forehead. Looking to the side, I see Draco on his knees, pulling weeds from under furry plants. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up and his blonde hair is in disorder, not to mention the streak of dirt on his cheek.

He's started to spend more and more time here in the Greenhouse with me. I wonder, at times, if he shouldn't be at home, brewing potions. He doesn't seem to care about it, however, and I guess he doesn't have to seeing as he comes from a wealthy family. The fact that he doesn't need to work doesn't make my share of the chores go away, though, which is why he is now helping me. Like this, he looks so different form his normal proper self that I laugh and he looks up at me with a slight frown.

"You should be on your knees, thanking me. Not laughing at me," he tells me haughtily and puts his nose in the air.

It only makes me laugh harder because with dirt on his clothes and in his face, he really can't pull it off. Before I know it, I've tipped back onto my back and am laughing loudly with my hands clutching my stomach as Draco scowls at me. Then I gasp in shock when I am suddenly doused with cold water and my eyes snap open; Draco is standing over me with water dripping from the tip of his wand and a smug grin on his face.

"You!" I exclaim and he laughs.

Not one to go down without a fight I grab the watering can and throw its liquid content onto Draco who abruptly stops laughing. He freezes, his eyes wide as he stares at me in stunned disbelief, and he looks like a drowned cat with his clothes hanging off of his frame and his pale hair slicked to his forehead. For a moment, I think he's angry with me; then he snorts and the next moment, we're both laughing.

With childish delight I tackle him to the ground and then we're wrestling – or at least trying to, because we're laughing so hard we have to steady ourselves on each other. Being close like this, touching casually and freely without tension, is pure joy and that strange feeling hums pleasantly. It doesn't take long before we're lying on the bricks, side by side with our shoulders touching, gasping for breath and absolutely soaked, and that's how Neville finds us when he walks by with a repotted plant in his hands.

He stops and stares at us and we look back at him, me with a sheepish expression and Draco with a blank one as if there is nothing there to see.

"Okay…" Neville says slowly. "You know what? I'm not going to ask."

Even the plants around us seem to shake their heads when he walks away and we burst into laughter again.


	33. Chapter 32

**XXXII. **I whistle cheerfully to the tune on the wireless as I make lunch, stamping my foot to the beat. It's a sunny day and the snow is lying in a thick, glittering layer of white outside of the window, but the kitchen is warm and smells of food and the smell of dark soil and the heavy, sweet scent of flowers come through the open door to the Greenhouse.

Neville comes in and washes his hands in the sink as I serve our lunch onto plates, and then he casts a quick _scourgify _on his own behind before taking a seat. The song on the wireless comes to an end and the jingle for the _Wizarding Wireless Network News_ comes on just as I am about to place one of the plates before Neville.

_"Breaking news! Only minutes ago, the Head of the Auror Department proudly announced that the known Death Eater Rodolphus Lestrange has finally been caught! The details surrounding the capture are still unknown to the public but Head Auror Robarts revealed that this is the fruit of many months of hard labour. With the capture of this dangerous individual, our community has become safer but Head Auror Robarts still wishes to remind the public that Death Eaters Avery, Nott and Travers are still at large. Head Auror Robarts warns the public not to approach these criminals and cautions—"_

I am frozen with the plate inches from the table and we stare at each other. We are both pale and shaken, not by the news of the capture but by the reminder that there are still three of them out there. I put the plate down and it sounds unnaturally loudly in spite of the wireless that's still talking in the background.

"They don't know where you are," Neville reminds me, but his voice is quiet and he doesn't sound so sure.

I close my eyes and breath in deeply, then nod and give him a weak smile.

"No, they don't, and there's one less of them now," I answer and slip into my own seat. "That means there's less of a danger."

In spite of my positive words, the food doesn't taste quite the same and an unsettled feeling lowers itself over the kitchen.


	34. Chapter 33

**XXXIII. **"How can you do this every day?" Draco complains and stands to stretch. With his hands at the small of his back, he makes the vertebras pop after the time spent on his knees, bent forward over the plants.

"It's not that bad," I answer lightly and look up from the plant whose roots I'm massaging. "You get used to it."

"I can't believe I'll ever get used to this," Draco protests and I laugh softly.

It's just me and Draco in the Greenhouse; Draco is, supposedly, my babysitter while Neville is away helping a customer who needs extensive aid in planning his garden, so we'll be alone all evening. I am unreasonably happy about all this, but am telling myself it's only because it'll be nice to have someone there instead of being alone. I'm not sure I believe it and the squirming of that feeling isn't helping.

"Why don't you go ahead and take a shower?" I suggest. "I'm almost finished here, anyway."

"You sure?" Draco asks but I can see the relief on his face and I nod. "I desperately need a shower," he adds and looks down at his dirt stained clothes and the soil under his nails with obvious displeasure.

"Go preen, princess," I tease him and he pokes his tongue out at me before leaving.

I listen to the sounds he makes as he opens the door to the kitchen and then, after a while, the more distant sound of the bathroom door. There is a sleepy tranquillity resting over the Greenhouse, the silence only broken by the soft rustle of leaves as the plants shift in their pots and flowerbeds. I feel at home here, as if I truly belong with the greenery in this humid warmth, and there is a strong sense of safety. I start humming softly to myself as I finish my chores and a few plants sway to my wordless song as I put the tools away and wash my hands under the water hose in the corner. I dry my hands on my jeans, careful to avoid the stains on them, and look about the garden to make sure that all is in its right place.

With a satisfied nod, I go into the kitchen and close the door behind me. The rush of water can be heard through the closed door to the bathroom, but it is soon turned off as I turn on the wireless and open the fridge to see what we have to make dinner of.

"How about pasta for dinner?" I call when I hear the bathroom door open.

"Sounds good," Draco's voice comes drifting to me.

I look up and there he is, standing in the doorway between the living room and kitchen, with only a towel wrapped around him and his hair dripping wet. I stare and my heart seems to come to a stuttering stop, my mind following it to a halt. Merlin, this is a nice view.

"Harry?" he asks with a raised brown and leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest where droplets glister...

_Say something, don't just stare, say something. _"Erm… Christmas," I blurt out and then I just want to run into the Greenhouse and hide with the Humaflora because really, was that the best thing I could come up with?

"Christmas?" Draco repeats and seems to share some of my thoughts. "What about it?"

"I, uh… we thought that we could, maybe, you know… celebrate together?" I suggest and I am having a hard time with stringing words together as I tear my gaze from his wet chest to his face and offer a tight smile.

"Together?" he asks and there's a frown on his face. My heart sinks; he's going to say no. "I wouldn't want to intrude, and I couldn't leave mother alone."

"She can come as well!" I say quickly and, perhaps, a bit too eagerly.

"Are you sure? Neville will probably want to celebrate with Lady Longbottom and I'm not sure she'll… appreciate the idea," Draco argues.

"Neville will talk to her about it – I'm sure it'll be fine!" I insist. Draco still looks unsure so before I can think it through and stop myself, I blurt: "I want you to come."

As soon as I've said it, I feel my face heat with a violent blush and set my jaw to prevent a mortified groan to escape me. I just want to hide my face in my hands and pretend that I've disappeared, but instead, I meet his gaze without looking away. To my surprise, a spark of light comes to life in his gaze and there's a pleased smile curving his lips.

"Really?" he asks as pushes away from the doorframe, straightening before stepping closer.

"Yes," I croak hoarsely and my gaze starts wandering without my permission.

"I'd like to come," he says softly and my gaze snaps up, my eyes wide and my cheeks flushed. "Like what you see?" he adds and I tip my chin in a nod.

Next thing I know, his arms are around me and mine are around him, palms pressing against soft, naked skin and his heartbeat thumping through my shirt. The feeling that Draco has always evoked in me explodes and I can feel my pulse speeding up when his breath washes over my neck and the little hairs stands on end – I shiver and even though I can't see Draco's face, I can swear that he's wearing a smug grin. One of his hands travels upwards to my neck and his fingers play with my hair, and then there're lips pressing lightly to the junction between my neck and shoulder and I draw in a sharp breath and my arms tighten around him―

A sharp crash, only slightly muted by the closed kitchen door, sounds from the Greenhouse and I whip around towards it, effectively breaking our embrace.

"What was that?" Draco asks; when I glance back at him, there's a displeased frown on his face that makes me feel warm and giddy.

"I don't know," I answer honestly and then, more reluctantly, add: "I'll go check. Maybe it's Neville."

Draco doesn't look convinced but he nods all the same and turns to the bedroom, probably to dress, as I walk out into the Greenhouse. It's like a dark jungle in the evenings with the black shapes of plants looming everywhere. I make my way through the darkness, walking the familiar paths with ease as I try to figure out where the sound came from.

"Neville? That you?" I call.

Silence answers me and I'm suddenly worried. The only thing moving except for me are the plants that stir at the sound of my voice. I think I hear shuffling and, with a deep frown, start towards the sound.

"Harry?"

I whip around and see Draco coming towards me with the tip of his wand shining. His shirt is untucked and his trousers wrinkled; he must have thrown his clothes on.

He comes up beside me and peers into the darkness, holding his wand high to shed as much light as possible. Dark shadows fall away from us and stretch long, creating disorienting shaped of light and dark among the plants.

"I think I heard something," I tell him quietly and lead the way in the direction that the shuffling sound came from. I vaguely recognize that we're approaching the corner where the Vampireflower is and am gripped by a terrible thought – what if someone got in somehow and has been attacked by the plant?

"_Expeliarmus!_" is suddenly shouted through the darkness and Draco's wand is ripped from his hand, the light on the tip of it still shining as it zooms through the air to come to sudden stop and shed light on the face of a man with a sharp nose and cold eyes that glitter darkly.

"Travers," Draco breathes and I am gripped by terror as I realize who this man is.


	35. Chapter 34

**XXXIV. **In the darkness of the Greenhouse, Draco is standing before me with an arm slung out to keep me behind him, shielded and protected. A part of me wants to protest against the treatment, say that I'm not defenceless and can take care of myself, but it's a very small part because I can see the second wand in Travers' hand. It is pointed at us, held steadily, and I know that even though I don't want to admit it, I am defenceless against magic.

"You _bloodtraitor_!" Travers hisses furiously and Draco jerks as if slapped but he does not waver. "You and your family, abandoning our Lord when he needed us! And now, here you are, protecting the _filthy halfblood_."

His black gaze is turned upon me and I freeze under it. There is hatred and madness in that gaze and cold fear grips my heart. I know beyond a shadow of doubt why he is here and suddenly, it is hard to breathe.

"I'll avenge our Lord," Travers says darkly. "But first…"

He turns to Draco again and raises his wand; Draco tenses against what is to come but he does not move. Thoughts come rushing back again and they whirl through my head. Travers is here for me, not for Draco; Draco shouldn't have to suffer for my sake. When Travers slashed the wand down, I push Draco aside.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

In the light of Draco's wand wand, I see Draco's pale face and wide eyes full of shock, fear and desperation as he falls to the side – then the world is swallowed by a sickly green light.

Memories come rushing; I am curled up in the cramped space under the stairs, hungry and alone; delight fills me when I realize that I, _just Harry_, am actually a wizard; I see Hogwarts for the first time and it's amazing and I love it; the Sorting hat wants me in Slytherin but I persuade it to place me in Gryffindor. It's all there, crashing down on me like a tsunami, drowning me. I'm thrown from one to another and it's far more intense than watching a movie because I am there, I am feeling it and these are my experiences. There's Voldemort on the back of Quirrell's head, the professor turning to ashes under my hands and pain in my scar; then, people have shunned me all year because I can talk to snakes and now the Basilisk poison is burning through my system, killing me as Tom Riddle is killing Ginny; I hear my mother's scream when the Dementors come close but I save my Godfather in the last moment as the white stag burst from the tip of my wand; dread fills me when my name has been drawn from the Goblet of Fire. On and on it continues, and I can't breathe under it all, the weight of my past suffocating me. Sirius' death; Dumbledore dies by my side; the hopeless and seemingly never-ending search for the Horcruxes; the final battle and dying – "_Do you wish to live?" – _and the deaths, so many deaths. Remus, Tonks, Fred, Snape ―

"Do you want them back?"

Do I want my memories back?

I remember Ron; meeting him on the train; trading Chocolate Frog cards; losing in chess; watching the Quidditch World Cup; facing Fluffy and the Acromantulas; fighting Death Eaters in the Department of Secrets – all of it with him there, by my side.

And Hermione, always so book smart; helping me with an incantation in class; saving me from accidentally making a potion explode in my face; solving the riddle of potions; helping me with homework even after I've prioritized Quidditch; petrified in the Hospital Wing with a crumbled note in her hand – she, too, sticking by my side no matter what.

My two best friends.

Then there's Draco, always Malfoy in my memories; his hand offered in friendship; the sneer on his face; insults and taunts; his head cracking against the stone, nose bleeding from Hermione's punch; winning over him in Quidditch; Down With Potter; his terrified face and tears in his eyes when I find him in the loo and, later, the blood gushing from wounds I have inflicted; wand trembling in his hand when he can't bring himself to kill Dumbledore; his body pressed against my back as he clings to me in desperation when I save him from the Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement – it's all so startling, realizing that I hated him, and I feel like crying. This isn't the Draco I know and it's not the Draco I want to know.

"No."

Silence for a moment, perhaps surprise.

"What about your magic?"

"Yes."


	36. Chapter 35

**XXXV. **I awake to the sound of a heartbeat, the heavy, rhythmical thumps rattling my ribcage as it forcefully pushes blood through my veins. Humid air, heavy with the smell of greenery and soil, rush in between my lips and into my starved lungs, my chest rises and then falls when I exhale, and the air takes with it the dregs and clogs of lifelessness. I open my eyes, disoriented, and find my face pressed into the crook of a neck. It is a pale, familiar neck and there is pale blonde hair brushing my cheek. With a slight smile, I nuzzle closer, but then hands grip my shoulders and I'm held at arm's length. I blink in surprise when I find Draco's grey gaze staring wildly at me, and I wonder what's wrong.

"Merlin, Harry! You're alive!" he exclaims.

I stare at him in incomprehension but then he cups my face and pulls me closer, and his lips are on mine, and the next thing I know, there's his hair between my fingers and we're kissing. He's kissing with a desperate need that I am all too happy to return, almost as if he wants to make sure that I'm really there and isn't about to disappear. I moan when one of his hands finds my neck and I press myself closer and closer still.

Too soon, it ends and we sit with our foreheads together and gasp. Draco's hands are dancing over my body, over my shoulders and down along my arms, my chest and around to my back, and he gives a slightly hysterical laugh.

"I thought you were dead, Harry," he breathes.

For a moment, I wonder what he means, but then it all returns to me; Travers, here in the Greenhouse, coming to kill me, and the flash of green light – "_Do you want them back?" _I jerk back and stare at him and he frowns at me.

"Harry? What―?"

I whip around and stare, dumbfounded. Travers is hanging limply in the Vampireflower's grip and the plant's teethed mouth is clamed around one of his arms, the stem pulsing as it swallows mouthful after mouthful of blood.

"I, um… wasn't sure what to do about that," Draco admits and I turn back around to stare at him; he gives me a wry smile in return. "Honestly, I'm not sure I want to do anything about it - he tried to kill you."

"He tried to kill _you_," I correct him and give him a quick, hard hug before I rise and walk over to the Vampireflower with long strides.

My legs are slight unsteady under me and it feels as if I haven't walked in a long time, but after a few staggering steps I retain control over them.

"Stop that!" I say sharply and the plant pauses but doesn't let go. I stroke the stem the way Neville has shown me and ever so slowly, it eases its grip on the unconscious man.

I notice that Draco's beside me when he helps me catch Travers and lay him down on the brick path, though not too gently. Once we're done, I simply stand there and stare at the Death Eater as it all rushes through my head. I turn to look at Draco who's standing close by my side; he looks pale and ruffled but fine and he gives me a weak smile.

"Are you okay?"

"Am I okay?" he exclaims disbelievingly. "Of course I'm okay – you're the one who almost died!"

"I did die," I answer quietly and Draco's eyes widen. "_Again_."


	37. Chapter 36

**XXXVI. **We're in the living room. Neville, called back from his customer visit, has taken in one of the chairs from the kitchen and is sitting with his elbows on his knees and his forehead leaned in a hand. Draco and I occupy the couch, sitting close, Draco with an arm around me as if he still fears that I'll disappear. It's just the three of us left. Aurors have been here, many of them, working effectively; some taking care of Travers while others asked us question after question for what seemed to be hours. We told them about the sound in the Greenhouse and Travers' attack, about me being hit with the _Avada Kedavra_ and the Vampireflower attacking Travers while I was out. None of them even looked sceptical; my second resurrection was readily accepted.

What I have yet to tell anyone is what happened between dying and waking up again.

"I can't believe you died again," Neville groans tiredly and rubs his hands over his face.

"I can't believe he's still _alive_," Draco counters and squeezes me closer. "How do you do it?"

"I don't really," I answer and they both look at me questioningly. "Death did."

"Death? As in, Dead in the Tale of the Three Brothers?"

"Yeah, I guess," I answer and shrug. "The first time, when Voldemort killed me, he asked if I wanted to live and if I was ready to pay the price – and I said yes. So he took my memories and my magic and gave my life back."

Something sad comes over Draco's gaze and he draws back a bit. I wonder why when he says: "But you remember now?"

I take a deep breath and he shrinks back again. Because of our past, he thinks I'm going to… what? Break it off? Break what off? Whatever it is that is between us, I sure don't want to end it.

"When Travers killed me, my memories returned," I say and hasten to continue when Draco looks almost despairing. "I remembered everything, about Ron and Hermione and our time at Hogwarts, and Death asked me if I wanted to have my memories back. And… I said no."

Complete silence fills the room and they're both staring at me; even the flames in the fireplace and the clock in the kitchen seem to have fallen silent.

"You said no?" Draco whispers and I nod.

"I remembered the war, and… and you. And I realized that… if I kept my memories… I wouldn't be able to be who I am now. With the memories, I would become that other Harry, and I didn't want that. Or, well, I guess you could say that I was the other Harry, then, seeing as I remembered everything at that moment… But I chose this life."

"But… How can you remember what happened if you still don't remember?" Neville asked slowly.

"It's like… I know that it happened, but… I know that I got all my memories back, but I don't actually remember them… if that makes any sense?"

By my side, Draco makes a happy but frustrated sound and then he pulls me into a tight hug and kisses me hard on the mouth.

"It's good to know that you're both well," Neville says quickly and the door slams as he makes his hasty escape.

I laugh into the kiss and Draco hugs me tighter still.

"I'm warning you," he mumbles against my lips. "I'm never going to let you go now."

**The next chapter is the last one, people ;) **


	38. Epilogue

**Epilogue. **Five years have passed since I died and chose my life, five and a half years since I died for the first time and paid the price for getting a second chance. Now, I am facing my biggest challenge yet and I am writing for dear life, my hand numb as I scribble line after line of my answer to the very last question. I can feel my forehead prickling with perspiration and my hair is sticking to my neck as I bite my bottom lip and taste ink; how in Merlin's name did I get ink there?

I glance towards the hourglass and speed up as the last grains of sand fall through, and then―

"Time's up, everyone!"

The parchment is summoned from under the tip of my quill, leaving a line of ink across the remaining inches of paper. With a tired sigh, I drop the quill onto the desk and collapse back in the chair with closed eyes.

There's a growing pressure in my temples that's about to develop into a full-blown headache born from many hours of complete focus and concentration, but I am happy.

I've done it.

I'm finished.

The scrape of chairs and the rustle of clothing fill the hall along with a murmur of voices, and I open my eyes with a triumphant smile. Along with many others, I rise from my seat. I can feel their glances, some more discreet then others, as I take my quills and ink and put them in a pocket, but I ignore them all as I follow the stream towards the doors that now stand open. My age, along with the fact that I am not wearing school robes, set me apart and makes me a subject of interest; I know for a fact that many a teenager who's gotten stuck on the test have spent their time staring at me, but it bothers me little.

Soon, I manage to squeeze out through the door and make my way through the crowded Entrance Hall and out onto the front steps. There, on the green lawn under the shining sun, they're waiting for me, and with a triumphant whoop of joy, I run to meet them. I practically throw myself at Draco and he catches me with ease, twirling me around in his arms before he sets me down on my feet and kisses me. The flash of a camera goes off and a catcall comes from a passing group of teenagers and Neville laughs beside us; with a great grin on my face, I break apart from Draco to smile at them all.

"Congratulations, Harry! You did it!" Hermione cries happily and dances over to give me a hug.

"I still don't get why you wanted to do it, mate," Ron sighs and shakes him head, but he's smiling.

"Of course he did!" Hermione exclaims. "Now he's got proof of his magical abilities!"

"I haven't gotten my grades yet," I remind her.

"I'd be surprised if you get anything below Acceptables," Draco says and steals a kiss and I swat at him.

"I had great teachers," I say happily and smile at them all, remembering the many hours we've suffered through as Hermione, Neville and Draco have tried and, hopefully, succeeded in teaching me all I need to know to pass the NEWTs.

"To the Three Broomsticks!" Ron calls and marches us all off towards Hogsmeade. "We're going to celebrate, we're going to drink, and it's going to be on me!"

We laugh and cheer and follow his lead, Draco with and arm securely around my waist and me with a silly grin on my face.

It's been five and a half years since I forgot my old life and started my new one, five years since I decided to keep this life I have.

Not for a moment have I regretted the choice, and I don't think I ever will.

**The End **

**I know some of you may feel that this story is somewhat unresolved, but the story I wished to write and now have written ends here with Harry taking control of his own life and shaping both it and himself. For me, this was never a story about a relationship but a story about choices in life – to be true to yourself or try to please everyone else? **

**I'm glad to hear that some wish for it to go on, but this is it. I hope you have enjoyed it and don't find the ending too displeasing. I like it and have far too many stories giving birth to themselves in my head to go on with this, so this is it.**

**Hopefully, I'll see you all in the next story!**


End file.
